


the hunger games

by clarkedarling



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Hunger Games AU, thanks suzanne collins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkedarling/pseuds/clarkedarling
Summary: in a dark vision of the near future, twelve boys and twelve girls are forced to appear in a live television show called the hunger games. there is only one rule: kill or be killed. when seventeen year old charlotte heywood steps forward to take her sister's place in the games, she sees it as a death sentence. but charlotte has been close to death before. for her, survival is second nature.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood & Sidney Parker, Charlotte Heywood/James Stringer, Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 41
Kudos: 75





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is something i've been sitting on for a while. i hope it's something people are at least interested in. i've done my best with fitting the show's characters to the right book ones, but if you have any suggestions i'd love to know! in fact, i'd really love to know what you think, good or bad!
> 
> please enjoy, and stay safe <3

The day before the reaping, Charlotte Heywood had to get away from it all. She had to escape.

She awoke as the dawn did, careful not to stir the mountain of siblings surrounding her, mostly the younger ones who had taken to sleeping beside her on the same small, creaking bed. She made quick work of slipping on a pair of tight-fitting, chestnut coloured trousers, and a large, knitted jade jumper that had been handed down to her. Lifting her beloved hunting jacket with the white sheepskin collar off of the rotting wooden bench in the corner, she glanced down at Alison, sound asleep in her own little cot in the corner. She was so small. So young. Tiny strands of her dark hair had fallen into her round, delicate face, and Charlotte couldn’t resist tucking them behind her ear. Planting a soft kiss on her forehead, she left.

There was one place in the entire district she felt . . . not safe, but whole. Somewhere she could breathe cleanly, hear clearly. Something about the deep green of the forest was rejuvenating, especially after the bleak grey of the Seam, and the coal dust in the streets. The cries of the miserable were drowned out the further she delved into the forest. As she retrieved her bow from underneath a concealed tree trunk, it was as though she had taken her first breath of air in years.

The soft, polished wood was icy to the touch, but felt all too familiar in her hands. The way the grooves in the oak, after nearly just under a decade of use, had moulded to her grip was comforting. Just raising the bow up, an arrow already drawn, caused a warmth to course through her body.

In the distance she spotted a rustling high up in an elm tree. A squirrel had spotted her coming, and was scrambling to escape the onslaught of arrows. Unfortunately, business meant business. A decent trade, such as a plump squirrel, wasn’t going to hunt itself.

Drawing her bow up, she focused on the retreating animal, and let the arrow fly. The telling squeak informed her that she had hit her target. Smiling, with a good feeling about the rest of the day’s hunt, she bound forward to retrieve her kill, careful to be light-footed so that she wouldn’t disturb any of her other potential prey in the forest.

“Charlotte Heywood strikes again!”

The voice, coming from behind a tree, did not startle her. Even if he had scared off the rest of the animals in a five mile radius, she couldn't help the huge grin that broke out onto her face. There, in front of her, stood James Stringer. Her best friend in the whole entire world. Tall, with his tawny coloured hair and soft hazel eyes, a contagious smile adorning his face, she would have recognised him anywhere. She leapt into his arms, wrapping hers around his waist, burying her head into his chest. Instantly she was engulfed in the scent of smoke and liquor - so much that it burned her eyes.

“What were you doing at the Hob without me?” she teased, pulling away, furrowing her eyebrows.

Rummaging in his trouser pocket, he brought out something wrapped in a beige piece of cloth. Curious, Charlotte stepped closer.

“It’s not much,” he muttered, handing it over to her. She gently took the gift from him, flooded with immense gratitude. Their fingers brushed slightly. “Happy reaping.”

It was a tradition they had started the day before Charlotte’s first reaping. She had been petrified, so he had spoilt her with a bundle of freshly picked cherries - a fruit she had never tried before. They had been sour and stained her tongue bright red, but it had made her smile and had taken her mind off of her troubles long enough that they had decided to do it each year.

She was careful with the package, so that nothing slipped out. One year she had shook it so hard, the little puff pastry Stringer had saved up four months worth of grain for, _and_ a turkey, had fallen out into the mud and crumbled instantaneously. Even just thinking about it brought a redness to her cheeks and a sinking feeling in her heart.

However, this year there was no pastry. Instead, a glistening little gold pin, in the shape of a ring, with a mockingjay spreading it’s wings across the middle.

“Oh Stringer, this is . . . " She was at a loss for words. It was beautiful, and breath-taking, and brilliant all at the same time. Never had she ever held something so valuable in her hands before. Never something so precious. “I love it.”

Stringer never could take compliments. A blush crept up on his face, he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“Your turn,” she then said, pulling a little package from her own pockets.

He unwrapped it, slowly, his eyes widening when he saw what was inside. “Goats cheese!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “How did you find some? How could you afford - “

She put a tentative hand on his forearm. “It doesn’t matter,” she assured him. “Happy reaping.” His eyes lingered on hers for a long time, her hand still atop his arm. They broke away only when a flock of birds took flight above their heads.

Stringer turned to face the woods, gesturing for Charlotte to lead on. He teasingly bowed as she passed him, which she returned with a playful nudge of her elbow. He stumbled backwards into the shrubbery, causing a pair of partridges to abruptly fly off. This brought a roar of laughter from his friend, as she held her sides. After laughing heartily at him, she grew subdued and gave up, holding out a hand for him. He took her hand, but then gave a sharp tug, pulling her down beside him. Immediately they were overcome with laughter.

Rolling to the side, the undergrowth soft, except for the odd twig, she found she was face-to-face with him. His glinting eyes mirrored her own, appalling reflection. Leaves were protruding out of her hair, as they were in his hair. However, Stringer seemed to look far better than she did, even with shrubs woven into his curls.

Charlotte hadn’t really noticed before - or not that she hadn’t noticed, she just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge - what every other girl at school saw. Not the pasty-faced, little boy with socks rolled up to his knees and a speck of coal dust on his chin, but the fully-grown _man_ , attractive and tall, a flaw nowhere in sight. Stringer was handsome, and she had heard the girls at school call him handsome - among other names - but she supposed being around him for so long, through the awkward, gawky years, had made her oblivious. Until recently. Now, it was more prominent then ever. She still saw her best friend when she looked at him, just now he was her _very good-looking_ best friend.

“You’re staring at me. Have I got something on my face?"

In her attempt to conceal her blush, she elbowed him in the ribs again.

“Yes, a dopey grin."

She stood up, straightening out her jacket. Her dark locks, which had been in a neat braid down her shoulder, were now messy, strands of hair falling loose. Sighing, she left it, knowing the amount of effort it would take to untie it and do it back up again.

Walking up the hill with Stringer faithfully by her side and her mockingjay pin proudly on her coat, she was strangely at peace. She truly believed that tomorrow, she would be left unscathed once again, and Stringer could too. Even remembering Alison, with her single slip of paper in the pool of thousands, she wasn’t worried. Not up here anyway, surrounded by luscious green hills, rolling off into the distance.

Two hours later, they had managed to catch four more squirrels, a dozen fish, and a prized batch of wild cherries. They perched themselves in their usual vantage point on a field overlooking the valley below them. Somewhere, past the mountains, were districts where children of all ages were fearing the worst about tomorrow. In the distance, she thought she saw a tiny glimmer of a window, the sunlight bouncing off of it. The window of a Capitol train maybe?

“This time tomorrow, twenty-four more kids will be on their way to Games,” Stringer sighed, as if reading her mind. They usually were on the same page, and more often than not the other would say aloud what either one of them wouldn’t.

“You can add that to the extensive, ever-growing list of things the Capitol have taken from us,” she told him, bluntly. She was counting the cherries, carefully wrapping them in the cloth Stringer had given her earlier. Cherries were a delicacy in District 12, and the townsfolk would pay good money for them.

“I don’t have a good feeling about it, this year,” he told her, looking off into the distance with a despondent look in his eye. “Something’s not right."

“You say that every year, you know,” she pointed out, glancing up at him. “Your name hasn’t once been picked out. Not yours, not mine - we’ll be okay."

“But what if we aren’t? It’s Alison’s first year, isn’t it? What if - "

She cut him off, the rest of that sentence unbearable.

“No. _No_ ,” she said, as she shook her head, refusing to accept what was a very scary possibility. “It won’t happen. Her name is in there once. It’s more likely you or I get picked, which like I said, won’t happen."

She was bent on ending the discussion, whereas Stringer was determined to persevere. “How many times is your name entered this year, Lottie?” His voice was stern, yet soft. It made her want to just curl up in a ball and slip away from everything.

“Stringer - "

“How many times?"

She paused for a brief second before answering, unable to meet his eyes.

“Fifty-four."

Her heart sunk as she heard Stringer release a deep sigh, almost as if he had given up.

It was a gut-wrenching amount, but it was necessary if she was to receive the tesserae that kept her family alive.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, before she decided that it was time they headed back under the wire and try to strike a few trades in the town. The day before the reaping was - and this would sound incredibly insensitive - always a good day for business. Parents, all terrified for their children’s fates, always rustled up as nice a meal as they could afford that night. Made a bit more of an occasion out of an otherwise bland and ordinary meal. As though it’s their last supper, which for two, it will be.

After making the usual rounds in the Hob, bargaining two squirrels for a hunk of cheese, another two for a blanket Stringer’s crippled father desperately needed, and the last squirrel for a bushel of apples, they knocked on the District 12’s only surviving victor, Tom Parker's, door in the Victor’s Village, knowing of his love for cherries.

The door was opened by Tom’s brother, eighteen year old Sidney. He had dark brown hair, and mahogany coloured eyes, his gaze piercing. He was glowering at them, his bone structure ridiculously chiselled. He was taller than both of the hunters, at around six foot, towering over Charlotte's five foot four frame in particular. He was dressed in a plain grey shirt and trousers, a thick hardback book in his grip. He was rather muscular, something she couldn’t help but notice. He also seemed to be rather reclusive, replying with simple one word answers.

“Is Tom in?” she asked, stepping forward, shifting around on her feet. Sidney was very much a lone wolf at school and around town, but that didn’t take away the fact he was extremely good-looking. He never ceased to make her nervous, not just because of his looks, but his whole brooding demeanour.

“No."

“Oh, um, would you be willing to make a trade then?"

“For?"

Holding out the cherries, she hoped that Sidney liked them just as much as his brother did.

“We know they’re his favourite."

Looking between Charlotte and the now slightly squished cherries, he nodded firmly, then retreated back into his house. She glanced over at Stringer with knitted eyebrows, when Sidney returned minutes later.

He handed her a bunch of coins and took the cherries. Silently, he remained where he was, waiting for her to count the money to make sure it was enough. And trust me, it was enough. More than.

“I don’t think I’ve ever held so much money in my hands before,” she gasped, turning the coins over in her hands, astonished. Stringer eagerly peered over her shoulder to take a look, wide-eyed. She half expected Sidney to laugh at them, but he didn’t. Instead, he watched them with mild curiosity. “Are you sure the cherries are worth this much? I mean, we usually only charge half this amount, often less."

“My family will be very grateful for the cherries,” he told them. Her attention was immediately torn away from the money and back onto Sidney. Was that a whole sentence he had strung together?

“Well, it’s our pleasure,” she replied, smiling warmly at him. She thanked him for the coins, not expecting a smile in return, she and Stringer began to make their way down the steps and back out onto the street. She had already started to divide their share between them when she heard her name called out behind them.

“Charlotte!” Sidney exclaimed. She snapped her head round, as did Stringer. “Good luck tomorrow."

She smiled once more, and wished him the same back, then added in a rather comical Capitol accent; _“And may the odds be ever in your favour!"_

She was certain that Sidney had grinned back, even laughed a little, when he slipped back inside his house.

“He does realise I was stood next to you the whole time, right?” Stringer inquired, disbelief evident in his tone.

Charlotte was filled with disbelief too, but for a different reason.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard Sidney Parker speak."

Now, that wasn't exactly true.

-

Charlotte Heywood had the misfortune of being born in District 12.

District 12, in particular the Seam, was brutal and harsh, but it was her home. She had never known anything different. A rickety old shack on the outskirts of the Seam was where the Heywood family had lived for the past forty odd years. Charlotte was the oldest of seven, and had been caring for others ever since she could walk. Seventeen years with all that responsibility, she had learned rather quickly to mature faster than her peers.

Seven children was almost unheard of for one family. With parents too scared to lose their children to the reaping, most limit themselves to two, three at the most. However, the Heywood family seemed to have been cursed. With two daughters, Charlotte, and her sister Alison, and a son, Harry, already, her mother had given birth to two sets of twins, a year apart from one another. Two boys, William and Toby, then two girls, Mathilda and Lucy. Seven mouths to feed anywhere would have been hard work, but seven mouths to feed in District 12 was nigh on impossible. Especially when their father was killed in a horrific mine explosion when she was eleven. 

Her mother, Helen, grew very fragile after her husband’s death. The prospect of raising seven children, four under the age of two, alone, was daunting. Simple tasks such as waking up and getting washed became a chore, tedious enough that she would spend hours in bed, oblivious to the cries of her children. Most nights the children would have gone to bed with empty bellies if Charlotte hadn’t had the initiative to start providing.

Her siblings all too young to help, her mother barely coping, Charlotte took upon the task of solely supporting her family. She had been taught the basics of hunting and foraging by her father before his death. He had been persistent, relentless in his teachings, almost as if he had predicted his untimely end.

Whilst her knack for the bow and arrow kept them fed for a few months, when winter crept in, warding off all the animals, she found herself at a stalemate. She signed up immediately for tesserae, eight times. A single tessera was worth one year’s supply of grain and oil for a single person, collected on a monthly basis. It also meant eight extra slips of paper with her name scrawled on every year. At her first reaping, her name was in the bowl eighteen times. Every year her chances got slimmer.

Stringer, an only child, barely got by on his two tesserae a year. His mother had died in childbirth and his father was rendered disabled in the same mine explosion that had killed Charlotte’s father. His leg was caught in the mine shaft as he scrambled to the surface and was ripped clean off. He could no longer work, leaving his twelve year old son to find other means of surviving.

He took to the woods like the few courageous hopefuls desperate enough to break the law before. His father had taught him all he knew about traps and snares, and with this knowledge he got by quite nicely on his own, until one afternoon he happened across a pheasant with an arrow protruding from it’s eye. It was a rare prize, far superior to anything he had caught thus far. Charlotte soon appeared, concerned that he was going to try and steal her kill, when a bargain was struck between them. They should hunt together; twice the bounty, half the responsibility. The offer was far too tempting for her to ignore.

Brought together by their mutual love of tree-climbing and laughing when they weren’t supposed to, they had remained close friends ever since that fateful encounter in the woods. He was also from the Seam, and got on excellently with her siblings. Young Stringer, affectionately named for his father was known amongst the Seam as Old Stringer, was sort of like a brother to Charlotte, the Heywoods an extension of the family he never had. Since they were twelve and thirteen years old, they had been hunting together in the woods. He made the traps, she shot the prey. They then both take their winnings to town, or to the Hob, and make a sale. Usually they almost always found a buyer. With what they had leftover, they would take back to their respected homes. Of course, she had a lot more bellies to fill.

Alison adored Stringer, and would always pester the pair after a day in the woods, demanding to know when it was her turn to learn how to hunt. Stringer entertained her, but Charlotte knew that Alison would make a terrible hunter; she would weep over every dead animal, more interested in tending to their wounds than making a profit.

That’s why Alison was better than she was. She had a heart of gold, the kindest and most generous soul in the whole of District 12, possibly the whole of Sanditon. If she had it her way everybody would have a garden and a goat to tend to, and music lessons would be mandatory for every child. Homes would be full of the sound of singing and the smell of freshly baked bread, and nobody would ever go hungry again. No child would ever have to compete in the Games. Despite all the hardship and strife twelve year old Alison had suffered through, she was still the sweetest little girl, full of optimism and hope.

That’s why the idea of her name being entered into the reaping made Charlotte feel physically sick.

It was Charlotte’s sixth year, and while she was no less worried than she had been her first year, she had grown somewhat accustomed to the nauseating anxiety. Especially considering how many times her name had been entered - fifty-four. If she made it to next year, it would be sixty-three. She refused to allow Alison to take even a single tesserae, knowing that they would be able to get by without it. One chance for her name to be called was agonising enough.

The thought of Alison, good and innocent Alison, entering the Games was heartbreaking. She had seen twelve year olds in the Games before, hopelessly frightened and alone, murdered in the most brutal ways imaginable, all in the name of entertainment.

Charlotte couldn’t bear it. So she prayed. She prayed and prayed that her little sister’s name would not be called out.


	2. two.

Sometimes Charlotte dreamt of a place far from District 12, far from Sanditon, where she could be whoever she wished to be. She could eat what and when she wanted, go where she wanted, live where she wanted. There would be no Capitol laws prohibiting her. No perimeter fence keeping her in. No Peacekeepers to beat her into shape. No starving children to pull her back.

She would never admit it, but most nights she dreamt about running away from the Seam, away from everything. Most nights she truly believed she could do it. Then, every morning she would awake to one of her many siblings, crying for a father that was never going to come home. 

On the rare occasion, Charlotte would dream about one particular memory she thought she had done a good job of burying; the time Sidney Parker saved her life.

It had been a couple of weeks after her father had died. Despite her talent hunting, she hadn’t managed to catch anything more impressive than a pigeon for three days, and wasn’t making enough money to put food on the table for the hungry brood at home. They were starving, forced to fill their bellies with hot water and mint, the odd cracker split between the eight of them. Her mother was struggling with the twin boys, only a year and a half, and the twin girls, three months old. They needed something substantial to eat or else . . . she couldn’t bring herself to consider the worst case.

She’d had an unsuccessful sale at the Hob, managing only to barter a measly pigeon for a pair of socks that poor Harry needed desperately. Too dejected to head home, she sat under a tree waiting out the rain that poured down around her in buckets. She was weak with hunger, her family at the brink of starvation.

Her vision blurry, she could only just make out the sight of twelve year old Sidney Parker stood in the bakery door, weighing up the pros and cons of walking home in the rain. Their eyes locked, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy when she spotted the paper bags in his arms. His brother was a victor of the Games, thus providing him and his family with a lifetime of money and gifts, as well as parcels of food delivered throughout the year. Sidney had never had to go hungry, and so she hated him for it.

She was dwelling in her own self-pity when she noticed, wearily, that Sidney was walking towards her. Before she could scramble to her feet, he had placed the paper bags in front of her. He was sopping wet, water running down his face, plastering his hair to his forehead and the nape of his neck. Looking down at her, he seemed to be on the verge of saying something, blushing furiously, when he decided against it and walked off.

Charlotte hadn’t been able to thank him in the moment, and hadn’t found the right time afterwards. Six years on, she had yet to acknowledge his generosity. In those paper bags had been five loaves of bread, a dozen bread rolls, and four sweet jam tarts. The baked goods had lasted her family two weeks, the jam tarts only several hours. Not only had his selfless gesture kept her alive, but undoubtedly had saved her younger siblings and mother, who was still weak from the traumatic birth.

Charlotte found herself thinking about him that night before falling asleep, wondering if thought about her too. His face was the last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness and sleep overcame her.

The next thing she knew, she was abruptly awoken by the sound of Alison sobbing, screaming even, beside her in the early hours of the morning. The sheets are balled up in her fists, and she could barely get an audible word out, when Charlotte wrapped her arms around her and held her close, muffling the cries before she woke anybody else. Rocking her back and forth, her hand stroking her sister’s back in circular soothing motions, Charlotte attempted to calm her with a lullaby she used to sing to her when she was a baby.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
A bed or grass, a soft green pillow  
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes  
And when again they open, the sun will rise._

_Here it’s safe, here it’s warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm  
Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._

She paused slightly, when she felt her ragged breathing slowly start to cease, her sobs succumbing to little whimpers instead.

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray  
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
And when again it’s morning, they’ll wash away._

_Here it’s safe, here it’s warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

Now Alison's grip on her loosened, and she knew that she was steadily falling soundly asleep once more. The last few lines are but a whisper.

_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._

Whilst Alison managed to slip straight into slumber, Charlotte was left wide awake, thinking about the day ahead. What woes and troubles would it bring?

Three more hours she laid awake, staring at the ceiling, or at her surroundings. She couldn’t help considering her odds, and how they most certainly weren’t in her favour.

More often than not, a child from the Seam is chosen. _We_ , she supposed, _are the most desperate_. As most of the children from the Seam, like her, carried the responsibility of a starving family to feed on their shoulders, it’s more than likely that their names are read out, rather than the town kids, who haven’t much cause to sign up for tesserae. Though, it does happen. That one of them gets picked. They aren't exempt from the reaping, they just have less odds against them. One year the apothecary’s son was chosen. Then, during Charlotte's first year, the shoemaker’s daughter.

The first year of the reaping was always the worst. Everybody tries to assure you that it was highly unlikely your name would be picked, that you won't be called out. Except that it does happen. They have all watched the Games, they have all seen a twelve year old in there most years.

Charlotte didn't like to think about the Games, or other districts much, but when she did, she started to realise things. To see them in a different light. For example, in every district, there would be mothers, fathers, siblings, aunts, uncles, neighbours everywhere telling their twelve year old sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, friends, that they have nothing to fear. That _'the odds are entirely in your favour’_. Except that for some twelve year old out there, they will have to face the Games. That despite all their relatives and neighbours and friends telling them they shouldn’t worry, they will still find themselves being forced onto the tribute train and whisked off to the Capitol, where they will face certain death.

And that in itself was a horrific thought. How many times had she told Alison not to worry? That the odds were entirely in her favour? That could be her today, on the train.

 _Shut up!_ she thought harshly, mentally scolding herself. _Of course she won’t get picked!_

As she uttered those words in her mind, she felt Alison stir next to her. She planted a kiss on her forehead, as the little girl turned to face Charlotte, smiling.

“Good morning little duck,” she greeted her, with a warm expression.

She bid her sister a good morning too, as Charlotte climbed out of the cot and gently awoke the others. Usually, she would have been met with some resistance, but today was different. The atmosphere was different. It was uneasy, a little apprehensive even. It was as if they all knew the weight of the day, even at such a young age.

After her siblings all had quick soaks in the washtub, Charlotte jumped in last. The water was lukewarm, and the goats milk soap was a mere speck the size of her thumb. It was fine though - she was used to going last. Scrubbing her hands and feet, especially her nails, she made sure that all traces of the forest were indistinguishable. Her dark hair was shining by the time she had finished washing it, giving it a glossy sheen, and her skin was practically gleaming.

She left the bath, and wrapped a thin, coarse towel around her body, slightly damp from the last use, and walked into the bedroom. On her bed wasn’t the plain, beige dress she had picked out the night before, but a beautiful indigo-coloured dress, made from cotton. On the collar, somebody had attached her mockingjay pin. Smiling to herself, she dropped the towel and proceeded to get changed.

After slipping on the dress, she was torn over what to do with my hair. It was very rare that girls chose to wear it down on reaping day, and it wasn’t considered acceptable. Unfortunately her skills began and end with a simple braid, something she wore everyday. Luckily, she felt a pair of tiny hands at the back of her head rapidly braid this way and that, loop this strand and that one. Alison was a magnificent stylist. Glancing in the stained mirror before she left the room, she was taken aback by her appearance. The dress complimented her body shape very well, and Alison had worked wonders with her hair.

“You look beautiful,” she gasped.

“So do you, little duck, so do you."

Charlotte kissed her forehead, and together they walked down the hallway.

-

Hand in hand with her sister, Charlotte felt ready for the next couple of hours. In thirty minutes, they would all have been arranged according to age, and then in forty minutes two children would be paraded up to the main stage. In an hour, it would all be over and done with - for this year.

The rest of the Heywood clan was dressed and ready, lining up in front of their mother for inspection. Determined to stay positive, their mother treated the tradition as though she was a drill sergeant, her children her regiment. It never failed to make them all smile, no matter how anxious.

“What would the president say if he saw you lot now?” she teased, tugging gently at the untucked shirts and askew collars.

“He would say _‘I’ll have what they’re eating! They’re growing far too big and strong!’_ ”

In the doorway stood Stringer, pushing his father in his makeshift wheelchair. The pair had dressed smartly, with Stringer even making an attempt to comb his curls. At the sight of the pair of them, the little Heywoods let out a little chorus of cheers, and launched into their arms. Seven year old Toby, ever cheeky, even crawled onto Old Stringer’s lap, who didn’t seem to mind. He began to reminisce on a time when his son was that small, as Charlotte’s mother began to wheel him out the door, the pair chatting amicably, though their minds were clearly occupied.

Charlotte and Stringer brought up the rear, giving each other a strained smile. 

“Now remember what we talked about, Stringer. You’re not to go volunteering, okay?” she muttered, with a strained smile. However good-humoured her tone was, she knew he could hear the underlying message: _please don’t get picked_.

He laughed. “You’re right. Wouldn’t be fair to the other tributes.”

They joked to stop themselves from becoming nervous wrecks. Her lip wobbling, Stringer reached out to give her hand a squeeze, his touch anchoring her as it always had.

It took a good ten minutes to make their way into town, and it was halfway through the short walk that she started to notice how scared Alison truly was. Her breathing had become ragged, and her hands were growing clammy. Charlotte pulled her aside whilst walking through a back alley, allowing the rest of the group to continue on, giving Stringer a look that assured him they would be ok.

Tears began to stream down Alison’s face, and she was now struggling to gasp for air. Running her hands up and down her arms, Charlotte tried to comfort her. She got her to copy her breathing, and soon she has calmed down. She wiped away her sister's tears and held her close to her chest, tightly.

“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go Lottie!” she cried, shaking. She peeled Alison off her, and held her out in front, clasping onto her tiny little hands. _These hands weren’t made for wielding weapons. These hands were made for healing, and playing piano, and painting. Not for murdering._

“Listen to me, okay Alison?” she ordered her, gently. “Your name is one of thousands in that bowl. You will not be picked, you hear me? I promise you that your name will not be called out. Do you know that horrible girl who takes your ribbons and kicks your shins and scribbles on your work? Her name is in there twice. She has double the a chance of being picked over you.” Not a nice thought, but better her than Alison who would never dream of stealing, maiming or damaging. _Another reason she couldn’t go into the Games._

“I don’t want her to be picked. I don’t want anyone to be picked!” she wailed, her lip trembling, teardrops pooling under her eyes - their father’s eyes. This shattered Charlotte's heart. She was so selfless. _A great quality to have, but not if it costs you more than it was worth._

“Somebody has to be picked, Alison, but I swear on my life that it won’t be you, okay?” she promised.

“Everything alright down there?” came Tom Parker’s voice.

District 12’s only living victor, his two brothers, Sidney and Arthur, and one sister, Diana, accompanied by three Peacekeepers, were visible a few metres away, at the opening of the entrance. He had furrowed eyebrows, looking upon the scene with caution. Behind him she could see Sidney, averting his gaze. He was looking rather smart, dressed in a light blue button down, and dark, cinnamon-coloured trousers.

Defensively, she pushed Alison behind her back, wanting to shield her from onlookers. “We’ll be fine,” Charlotte replied, dismissively. She appreciated his concern, but didn’t want an audience as she tried to comfort her sister.

“That poor girl doesn’t look too well to me,” he inquired, pressing further.

Her patience was wearing thin, especially with Alison still sobbing behind her. “Well, today is hardly a day for jubilation,” she simply said. It came out harsher than she intended, but time with her sister was running out.

Charlotte watched as Sidney leant over and muttered something into his brother’s ear. As he did, she noticed that he was holding onto his sister Diana’s hand. If she remembered correctly, and she hoped she wasn’t, the little girl was twelve too, meaning this was also her first reaping. What a striking scene - two entrants, on either end of the spectrum; the one who’s entering for the first time, and the other one who’s entering for the last time.

“Alright,” Tom suddenly called out. Whatever Sidney had said had encouraged him to leave, for which Charlotte was grateful. “Fingers crossed for your sister.”

As the Parkers left, one of the Peacekeepers gestured for them to hurry up and sign in. Luckily they were among a dozen other latecomers, and all eyes weren’t on them. She directed Alison to the desk and assured her that the needle prick would only hurt for a second. Charlotte barely felt it, whereas Alison winced out loud. They state their name and age, and were pointed to their stations. Alison was to stand closer to the front, on account of her young age. Charlotte took her place near the back, surrounded by fellow seventeen year olds

She scanned for Stringer among the huddle of boys, desperately. Accidentally, she locked eyes with Sidney, who was glancing over in her direction. Hastily, she looked away, and spotted a boy with soft curls. Stringer.

 _What happened to you?_ he mouthed

 _Later,_ she mouthed back. _How are you?_

With this being Stringer’s sixth year, like Charlotte, his name will be in the bowl twelve times. Nothing on her eye-watering fifty-four, but enough to still be in the running. That very thought causes a knot to form in her already aching chest.

 _Worried_ , he replied, with a lopsided smile. _Aren’t we all?_

Charlotte nodded back, agreeing completely. About to say something in return, the anthem began to play, directing all of their attention forward.

The Mayor stood at the front of the stage, in his newly pressed suit, and delivered the same speech about how Sanditon came to be. The story of how this _‘glorious'_ and _‘united'_ country rose up out of the ashes of a place once called Great Britain. Listing the many disasters that had destroyed so much of the land and talking about the war the Capitol saved us from, bringing about the creation of the thirteen districts. Then the same tale of what was referred to as the Dark Days was told, which detailed the uprising of said districts. Twelve were defeated, and the thirteenth obliterated. The Hunger Games were invented as a way to remind everyone every year of the Capitol’s power.

It was boring really, when that was the only thing people had ever been taught all their lives. Charlotte tuned out through most of it.

Then followed the list of District 12’s previous winners. It was a short list. Very short. In seventy-four long years, only two from this district had ever won before. Just one is left alive. Tom Parker.

He rose from his seat, and as he did every year, refused to say a speech. He just stood there, in front of the microphone, unwavering, a hip flask glued to his hand. The Mayor awkwardly waited, until it was clear that Tom wouldn't say anything. Instead, their district representative was hastily introduced from the Capitol; Mary Ashfield. She had clearly dug out a special dress for this special occasion, one that was adorned with three dimensional paper butterflies, and looked ridiculous when compared to the rest of the audience.

Beaming out at all of them, she leaned into the microphone. “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” she called out. Nobody reciprocated her futile enthusiasm. She then talked about how fortunate she was to have been gifted with such a promising district, and what an honour it was, when everybody knew she was lying through her bleached white teeth.

So far, this reaping was exactly like all the others. The same _riveting_ speech from the Mayor, same bored expression from our _glorious_ victor, and the same _honest vivacity_ from the Capitol member. It was all rather yawn-worthy, until the actual deciding of victors begins.

“As always, ladies first!” Mary exclaimed, smiling far too widely.

Her hand hovering over the bowl, she made a point about keeping us all on our toes, when finally it delved into the sea of slips. She decided on one and pulled it out, triumphantly. Charlotte's stomach lurched, and she bit her lip, nervously. This was the worst part, the waiting. Making her way back over to the podium, Mary took her time opening it, until she brought her lips up to microphone.

“Alison Heywood"

 _It’s not me_ , Charlotte thought. _But it’s her._

The poor, innocent little girl who cried when somebody else cried. The girl who struggled to open the heavy, wooden doors at school. The girl who still played with dolls. The Capitol couldn’t expect her to suddenly replace them with weapons, surely not? But they had done it before. Twelve year olds entered all the time. No, she would be in the Games, lost, alone and frightened.

Charlotte didn’t realise she had stumbled to the ground until she felt the hands of the girls around her hoist her back up to her feet. That was when her surroundings shot back into focus. The eerie silence of the town square, the horrified, yet relieved faces of the parents. Looking forward she watched as people edged away from Alison, allowing her to be seen by the cameras. Slowly, she started to walk out of the cluster of twelve year olds, and stepped towards the stage.

“Alison? Alison!” Charlotte exclaimed, pushing her way free. People started to stare, as her voice grew louder and louder. She didn’t care though. She had promised her sister she wouldn’t be up there. She had promised her she wouldn’t let them take her. “Alison!"

Her voice was hoarse with desperation, as she watched Alison turn to face her. They were stood in the empty section between the boys and girls, encompassed by the whole of District 12 - yet somehow, Charlotte had never felt more alone. One slip? One slip among thousands, and she was chosen. It wasn’t fair. She wouldn’t let them have her. _“Alison!"_

Two Peacekeepers ran forward to drag her back into line, but she resisted, screaming out her name loud and clear.

“I volunteer!” she screamed, realising any other effort was insufficient. “I volunteer as tribute!"

Nobody had volunteered in decades, and clearly this had thrown everybody. The Peacekeepers listened as Mary instructed them to release her and allow her to take her place on stage.

“Bravo!” she called out, as if it was a feat worthy of celebration.

This wasn’t for the glory. This was Charlotte keeping her promise.

She bound forward and wrapped her arms around Alison, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Nobody is going to hurt you, sweetie,” she managed to whisper in her ear, until the Peacekeepers yanked her from her sister, thrusting her towards the stage. Behind her Alison rushed forward, and clasped onto the fabric of her dress. Biting back tears, Charlotte tried to get her off, but she had gone weak. Stringer was by her side quicker than the Peacekeepers, and he lifted Alison into his arms. She thrashed around, beating her tiny hands on his back, bawling her soft, little eyes out. With a mournful expression, Stringer willed Charlotte on stage.

“Up you go, Lottie,” he muttered, his voice unsteady. “And don’t let them see you cry."

Holding her head up high, she descended the stairs, Alison’s cries ringing in her ears. _Better me than her. Better me than her._

Mary awaited her on stage with open arms and a genuine grin on her face. _Finally_ , she was thinking, _somebody with a little spirit to her!_

“A huge well done to you, young lady!” she cheered, looking to the crowd for the same impressed reaction. However, they’re all looking far to aghast to find any sort of enjoyment out of the whole thing. “What’s your name?"

“Charlotte Heywood,” she answered, her voice as steely as she could make it. She couldn’t give the other tributes something to revel in, something to laugh at. She wouldn’t make herself a target.

“Now, am I right in assuming that was your sister?” Mary asked, smiling past her tribute and into the camera. All eyes would surely be on them right now.

She could still see her, in the corner of the town square, Stringer’s arms enveloped around her. She’s crying, still, and that alone is enough to make Charlotte want to cry. “Yes, she’s my sister."

“Don’t want her to steal the limelight, heh? Well, come on everybody, give a big round of applause for your newest tribute!"

Not surprisingly, not a single person clapped. Instead, she was met with thousands of sombre-looking citizens, blinking back up at her.

Mary waited, and when it became apparent that nobody was willing to clap, she moved on to the boys. Taking the same amount of agonising time to choose, finally she picked one, and brandished it in the air. Whilst she walked back to the podium, Charlotte was distracted momentarily from her own misfortune by thinking about how much she don’t want it to be Stringer. Who knew, a sense of humanity might wash over somebody and they could volunteer for him too, but she doubted it. Instead she hoped, and she wished, that his name would not be inside that slip.

It wasn’t Stringer.

It was Sidney Parker.


	3. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlotte deals with the aftermath of the reaping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being so lovely, i'm glad there's some interest in this story! don't be shy, let me know what you think!
> 
> enjoy, and stay safe <3

Sidney Parker

The boy with little to say. Unlike Charlotte, who wasn’t afraid to voice an opinion, he preferred to stay quiet. When he had something to say, he would say it. Being the brother of a victor afforded him an aptitude for manners and etiquette, surrounded from an early age by such luxury, he knew exactly what to say to the right people. The few times she had heard Sidney speak, to say she was impressed was an understatement. Once, when she was eight, their school had a visit from some Capitol officials, who wanted to discuss The Hunger Games. At the end of a very rehearsed and monotonous speech, the schoolchildren were given the chance to ask questions. Most were silly things like _‘why is your a hair a funny colour?’_ or _‘what does duck taste like?’_. However, stoic Sidney surprised everyone when he put his hand up; what came out of his mouth shocked them even more. _“Why aren’t the Capitol children entered into the Games?”_ This question left everybody speechless. After this, Charlotte had developed a newfound respect for him.

Sidney Parker.

The boy who was devastatingly handsome. Not that she actively admired or drooled over the men in her district, she just happened to notice Sidney. He had ever so slightly curly chestnut hair, short, with hazel eyes so dark they could have been jet black. Prominently muscular, if she focused hard enough she could have made out his defined biceps and abs through his shirt. Again, not that she had tried to. Because of his brother’s victor status, he ate far better than most of the other District 12 kids, and was a healthy size. Brooding and mysterious was the only way she could describe him. At eighteen years old, with a gaze that could rival a predator's, and a jawline sharper than her hunting arrows, he was desired by many of the girls in my school. Not that she cared, of course.

Sidney Parker.

The boy who could deliver a devastating blow. It was common knowledge that Sidney struggled with anger issues and had difficulty compressing his urges. Only twice had Charlotte seen him completely lose his cool. Once, when he was fourteen and Arthur fell devastatingly ill. Some of the Seam kids took this as an opportunity to pick on him, sending him into a blazing fury. He knocked one of them unconscious, and the other broke his nose in five places. They were three years older than him. The other time was last year, in the school corridor. For some reason or another, nobody quite knew why, Sidney got irrevocably angry and defensive, and broke one of his fellow classmate's arms. Charlotte was familiar with the boy, the Mayor’s son who like to throw his weight around. He probably deserved it. Threatening at the best of times due to his looming height and muscles, when Sidney got angry he could really do some damage. She supposed that was why he took boxing at school. He was quite good too, winning almost every match.

Sidney Parker.

The boy who helped her when no one else could.

Ever since that fateful day in the rain, Charlotte hadn't once been able to look upon Sidney without being reminded of the in-payable debt she owed him, for not only practically saving her family's lives, but for giving them hope again.

Sidney Parker.

The boy who was selected as District 12’s male tribute.

Nobody stepped forward for him as Charlotte did for her sister. Arthur was too young, and Diana was the wrong gender - besides, she sincerely doubted that he would let her volunteer for him in the first place if she could. Everyone was looking between Tom and Sidney, in morbid shock. Tom was showing no signs of distress or horror. He appeared oddly apathetic, and it would have been a reasonable guess to presume he hadn’t even heard the name, if it wasn’t for the hip flask that had always seemed permanently glued to his hand tumbling to the stage floor, spilling the boozy contents.

Calmly, Sidney made his way up towards the stage, his eyes staring straight ahead of him. He may have been putting up a gritty bravado as Charlotte had done, but if he was anything like her deep down he’d be scared out of his wits. He refused to meet her gaze, and instead chose to stand with arms crossed behind his back. Feeling her cheeks flush a little, she turned back to the audience. Mary called for a round of applause, and in true District 12 fashion, all the tributes received was a multitude of piteous stares. She guessed that her volunteering had shocked them. Nobody had volunteered for their district in . . . well, a really long time. Certainly no one had in her lifetime. Mary asked for volunteers on Sidney’s behalf, but of course nobody comes forward. A slight jerk of his head caught her attention, and she saw that he seemed to be shaking his head. Was he angry nobody wanted to help save his life?

Unsure of how to react, knowing full well they were all on camera, Mary insisted the pair of them shook hands. Awkwardly, Charlotte outstretched her hand, and waited for him to take it. Seeming reluctant, he gritted his teeth and took it, warily. Almost immediately he let go and looked away. Not once did they make eye contact.

“Ladies and gentleman, District 12’s male and female Tributes!"

Suddenly, instead of cheers and whoops, they received something far greater. Something more meaningful. In their district, to press your three forefingers on your left hand to your lips and then raise that arm to the sky, was seen as a mark of admiration and thanks. Archaic even, rarely seen, the impact it had on Charlotte was immense. It’s used as a goodbye to someone you love.

And just like that, they were whisked away into the Justice Building to await their fate. Here they were allowed a time slot of ten minutes to say their farewells. Just ten minutes to say all that needed to be said, because in a few weeks, she could be dead.

The last time she had entered the Justice Building, she was eleven, and it was to receive a medal after her father perished in the mine explosion. As the oldest child it was pinned to her lapel. She had been inside for about twenty minutes, and had never felt so out of place. Right now, the same kind of sensation washed over her. What was a miner’s daughter from the Seam doing in a place like this?

This time was usually dedicated to family, but it wasn't uncommon that allowances were made for friends to say goodbye too. Alison broke into a run when she opened the door, and launched herself into her sister's arms. Charlotte engulfed her, letting her bury her face into the crook of her shoulder. Sobs consumed her, and she was barely capable of getting a single word out.

Charlotte sat down on a plush, velvet chair in the corner of the room, positive it was the most expensive thing she had ever laid her eyes on. Alison perched herself on her lap, and Charlotte had to peel her off so she could look at her face. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and her dark brown hair was sticking out of her plaits all over the place. Her lip was wobbling, and that alone was enough to tip Charlotte over the edge. Tears began to fall from her eyes, as she held the little girl close to her chest, afraid to let her go. She saw the rest of her family in the corner, her mother holding six year olds Mathilda and Lucy in her arms, tears streaming.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Alison, I’m so sorry . . . " she managed to get out, barely an audible whisper. Pulling herself back, Alison gazed into her eyes and placed her small hands on her sister's cheeks, delicately wiping the tears away. Such a mature gesture for somebody so young.

“Why are you sorry? You’re not the one who created the Games! You’re not the one who forced me to put my name in! You’re the one who saved my life! _You’re_ the one going into the Games!” she told her, in a steadier voice than Charlotte's.

Astounded at her courage - Alison was always far braver than her - she swallowed her sob.

“I know but I promised . . . I promised you I’d keep you safe."

Alison pressed her lips against Charlotte's forehead, who closed her eyes, still crying. “You always have kept me safe."

“I promise I’ll win, you know. I’ll win not for the damn Capitol, or for the President, but for you. I’ll come home, okay sweetie? For you."

“I believe you, Lottie, I really do. I love you."

With these words, I knew that I’d made the right decision in volunteering. “Will you still love me, Alison? Even through everything you see on the screen?” she questioned, with a horrid knot in my stomach.

“I’ll know that you don’t have a choice. So yes, I’ll still love you. I want you home. I just want you here with me, safe. Who else is going to teach me to hunt?"

Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh a little; her little sister was a lost cause when it came to hunting. “Oh Alison, I will miss you."

“This isn’t goodbye. We’ll see each other again. I know it."

Caressing her cheek, a bittersweet smile spreads across Charlotte's face. She stood up, allowing Alison to hug her one last time, then walked over to Harry, William and Toby, who were all crying too. They looked just like their father, a fact that shattered her heart and gave her confidence that they would be alright. They were tough and stubborn, a Heywood family trait, and would scrape along just fine.

She knelt down to talk to them, though nine year old Harry reacher her shoulders when she was stood up. Taking both of the twins' hands in her own, she smiled through the tears at them. She ran her thumb along their knuckles, in an attempt to comfort them.

“I hope that you three stay safe, okay? That you’ll do everything that mum asks of you. You’re old enough now boys that you help out. I do not want you taking tesserae, and you’re not to work the mines until you’re eighteen, but you’re to do all you can to get by.”

The door creaked open, and in walked Stringer, pushing his sombre father in the wheelchair. He stood in the corner, his hand over his mouth, eyes misting over, as he struggled to suppress his emotions.

“You’re to help Stringer out too. He’ll need a new partner, you see,” she told them. With her last words, she watched Stringer’s face contort, the tears flowing freely now. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. “And I hope you’ll be there for each other when one of you needs it. No fighting at school, but you’re to look after one another. I’m not going to be here to help you when you tease the neighbour’s dog, alright, and mum . . . well, she’ll need three strong boys like you looking out for her. Promise me you’ll do that for me?"

They nod, earnestly. Then, simultaneously, they all wrap their arms around her neck, and hold their sister for a few seconds.

There wasn’t anything she could think of to say to her mum that wouldn’t result in both of them sobbing hopelessly. Instead, she kissed Mathilda and Lucy, who didn’t quite understand what was happening - perhaps it was better that way - and kissed her mum’s cheek. Some part of her thought that her mum didn't quite know what was going on either; she had done nothing but stand motionless, gawping. She wasn't altogether present at the best of times.

“You can do it,” her mum whispered, surprising her, before she pulled back. “You’re just like your father.”

The Peacekeepers came in and instructed people leave the now rather crowed room. Quickly, Charlotte bid farewell to Old Stringer, who clasped her hands and assured her he would look out for her mother and the little ones, as the Heywood clan was escorted out the room, Alison pushing the wheelchair.

Finally, Charlotte was left to say goodbye to Stringer. She found herself taking in all of his features, memorising every line, every dimple, as if in a matter of minutes she could forget them all. Only twice had she ever seen him cry; once when a teacher informed him of the explosion that had left his father battling for his life, and another time when he fell from a tree in the woods and broke his arm in four places. She guessed that was what made looking at him now, tears falling from his mossy green eyes, even more unbearable.

“I’m fine.” It was a lie, they both knew it was.

He enveloped her immediately before they both erupted into more tears. “I know.”

“I am.”

Her face was buried in his chest, held so tightly by him that she could hear his heartbeat, erratic, pumping on adrenaline and fear. He smelt like goats milk soap and faint smoke. She wished the scent of the woods still lingered on him, something that was just theirs she could remember him by.

Just when she was starting to calm, the touch of her best friend almost intoxicating, he sharply pulled back, holding her at arms’ length. “Listen, you’re stronger than they are. Don’t let them underestimate you, alright? Get to a bow - "

“They might not have a - "

“Then make one!” Stringer exclaimed, exasperated. “You can hunt, you can survive. You _need_ to survive.”

Charlotte could feel her throat constricting. “I can hunt animals, not people.”

“It’s no different.”

But it was though. Deep down they both knew it. “There’s twenty-four of us, only one comes out.”

Stringer took her hands in his and offered her, for the first time since Alison’s name had been called out, a smile. Small, but soft. “Yeah, and it’s going to be you."

She couldn’t think of what else to say to him. There was a million and one things she wanted to tell him, but nothing she could bring herself to say out loud. She couldn’t stand to imagine that this could be the last time she ever stood in front of him, talked to him, looked at him, hugged him, kissed him -

 _Kissed him?_ Why would she say that?

Because his lips were on hers before she even had the chance to object. His hands desperately grabbed at her waist, pulling her closer, then travelled up to her face. He seemed to be holding on for dear life. Unsure of what do, she simply stood there frozen, hands limp by her sides. She closed her eyes, because that was the natural thing to do, but she couldn’t help but feel as though she had been punched in the gut. The kiss was bringing up so many mixed emotions - emotions she had no clue were even there. It wasn’t comfortable. It didn’t feel natural. So many things with Stringer were like second nature; this wasn’t.

Pulling away, both of them gasping for air, she gazed into his eyes, speechless. She wanted to ask him why that, why now, why he? However, all that came out was; “Look after them."

Unlatching himself from her, he nodded. “Don’t die out there, Lottie. For us."

“For you,” she replied.

Then a Peacekeeper appeared and yanked him out of the door. Alison was sobbing again in the corridor, her hands reaching out for Charlotte's. Stringer scooped her up and swiftly left the room without another word. As the door closed, she collapsed into the velvet chair, the sob erupting out of her. She hadn't realised how much her heart ached. Now that the people she loved most in the world were prized from her clutch, it felt as though she had been unplugged from a life support machine.

She must have been crying pretty loud, and so wrapped up in her own thoughts, because she hadn’t noticed Mary slip into the room to retrieve her, Sidney hovering by the doorway. She pulled up a chair beside her and offered her a tissue. Shaking her head, Charlotte roughly wiped her eyes with her hands, determined not to let Sidney see her cry.

Mary escorted them to the car that would drive them to the train station. Sidney didn’t acknowledge her the entire ride. After the weighty goodbye with her family, the silence between them was completely fine. Clearly Mary could sense this, and with a slight huff, she spoke.

“You two better warm up when we reach the Capitol. Nobody will want to sponsor you if you’re sulking the whole time."

Scoffing, Charlotte could barely believe her ears. She had just been chosen to participate in a bloodthirsty sport that pitted children against one other in a fight for the death, completely against their own will. Were they not allowed to show any kind of emotion that wasn’t blind enthusiasm? Apparently not. What a contorted and pitiful world they must live in.

What a contorted and piteous world Charlotte must now battle to stay alive in.


	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope everyone is staying safe in these turbulent times.
> 
> please, enjoy

Cries. Wails. Screams.

Charlotte's mind was filled with the sound of Alison’s agony. Watching her not once, but twice, as she was pulled away from her reach broke her heart. It took every ounce of her courage to not jump off the train and race back to her family. She shuddered to think what was happening back home, how her family were coping.

She had smiled and waved at the train station, and though it was polite and customary, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was betraying those she had left behind.

 _Those she had left behind._ Stringer. She had left him behind too. With her she had taken a thousand burning questions, itching to be answered. For instance, what did that kiss mean? Was it a parting kiss between friends, or was it a kiss from a boy who wanted more? Did she want more from him? Was that why the kiss bothered her so much? Was she conflicted between her misunderstanding, or her longing? Did she even enjoy the kiss? She recalled being surprised and having a jittery feeling rise up in her chest, but was that because of the kiss, or the whole day in general? How frustrating to be left in the dark.

She hadn’t realised the train had started moving until Mary walked in through the door, yanking her out of her stupor, all beams, followed by a less cheery looking Sidney. He avoided her gaze, as he had done the last six years, and instead chose to sit in a chair furthest from her. Instantly, she clenched her jaw and wondered why his aloof behaviour agitated her so much. It wasn't as though they were the best of friends in the first place, and who knew, in a few weeks she may find that one of them is faced with killing the other.

“Oh come on you two, we’re all on this journey together!” Mary called out, perching herself across from Charlotte, gesturing to the seat beside her. Refusing to even look at Sidney, Charlotte instead focused her attention on Mary, whilst he reluctantly took the spare seat.

Charlotte crossed her arms and proceeded to stare out of the window, pretending as though she was so very entranced by the view - though there was nothing to see but the blurry shrubbery whizzing past. Sidney, she saw out of the corner of her eye, had taken to fiddling with a plain silver ring she hadn’t noticed he was wearing.

“Well . . . let’s start by introducing ourselves, yes?” Mary asked, when nobody else said anything.

“We already know each other,” Sidney muttered, before Charlotte could get a word in. He didn’t even look up.

This was what she didn’t understand. He was right; they did know one other. Only yesterday morning she had brought him some cherries, and he had laughed at her jokes and she had smiled, and they had wished each other good luck. An amicable, if brief, interaction. Now, he was behaving as though she had personally picked his name out of the bowl of thousands, on purpose. She was too angry to even confirm what he had said, and chose to remain silent, fuming.

“Oh, okay, wonderful!” Mary said, clapping her hands together. “When did you meet then?"

She was eager to get them talking, to see what kind of tributes she was burdened with this year. Charlotte supposed she was hoping for kids easier to work with than last year’s two. She distinctly remembered that one of them, a boy who had been a year younger than her, had tried to run off the stage when his name was called. The girl killed herself on Day 3 in the Games.

Again, Sidney jumped in before she could say anything.

“We go to school together,” he explained, as simply put as though he were explaining what water was for. "She’s in the year below me."

This felt like some sort of smack to the face. Not that she would say their relationship - for lack of a better word - was complicated, but she had expected a better explanation for how the pair knew each other. For instance, they shared an English class. Or, the whole incident with the bread. Or, the fact she had been supplying his family with produce from the woods for just under six years.

Realising she was going nowhere with Sidney, that a conversation with him was like pulling teeth, Mary turned to Charlotte.

“You know, we’re going two hundred miles an hour and you can barely feel a thing,” she began, in that sickly sweet tone of hers. “I think it’s one of the marvellous things about this opportunity that even though you’re here and it’s just for a little while, you get to enjoy all of this.” She gestured around her, at the many trinkets and gadgets surrounding them. “Crystal chandeliers, platinum doorknobs. All the cakes and puddings your heart desires!”

“Some of us needn’t have left home for all that,” Charlotte couldn’t stop herself from blurting out. When Mary gave her a puzzled look, Charlotte continued. “You don’t know? Sidney here is Tom Parker’s brother. I bet that got a crystal chandelier in every room back in the Victor’s Village.”

“Ah yes, Parker, I should have guessed!” Mary exclaimed, her shrill voice bouncing off of all that crystal. “Well, that does give you an edge, doesn’t it, your brother being a mentor?”

Charlotte hadn’t considered that. With Sidney being their mentor’s brother, there was no doubt at all that Tom was going to assure that all sponsors and gifts were going to be sent straight to him, leaving no hope for her to survive longer than a few days. She caved and glanced in his direction. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were white where he was gripping the seat of arms of his chair.

“I suppose I should prepare myself for hunger and misery then, if Tom’s going to choose you to save,” she sighed, half saying it because she wanted to see his reaction, half saying it because she believed it.

It wasn’t Sidney who spoke, but Mary. “Oh, don’t think that for a second my dear!” she cooed. “A pretty girl like you, we’ll find you plenty of sponsors.”

Charlotte sat back in her chair with a huff. Regardless of how many people wanted to sponsor her, ultimately it was Tom’s decision where the gifts were distributed.

The awkwardness was palpable, the tension thick. Mary realised anymore attempts to start a conversation would be futile, so instead decided to leave the cart in search of their elusive mentor. This meant Sidney and Charlotte were alone, side-by-side.

Never one for silence, despite present company she found herself pushing Sidney to talk to her. His trademark stoicism was grating on her now, and she was determined to get him to say something. Anything.

“What’s he like, your brother?” Nothing. She sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to talk I understand. We hardly know each other. Tom is your family, but he’s our mentor. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with asking for a little help.”

At the mention of help, Sidney looked at her for the first time, wide-eyed. He still remained mute, but the way he was staring at her seemed to say enough. It was intense, and she glanced away, feeling her cheeks burn. Did he remember about the bread, how he had helped her then? Was this look his way of telling her he’d already helped enough? Did he regret it?

Questions buzzed about her brain like bees in a hive, and before she could string together another sentence, the cart doors slid open.

In walked Tom Parker. He had hobbled from his room to retrieve some more ice for his whiskey, when his wandering gaze landed upon his two tributes, sat in hostile silence. Pushing his sleek, wheat-coloured hair from out of his drooping eyes, he sauntered over to the pair of them, waving a half-filled glass in his hand.

“Do either of you happen to know where the ice is?”

Charlotte hadn’t been sure what to expect from the District’s village idiot. Sympathy perhaps, mild concern even. Not complete indifference. It was especially shocking considering his own brother sat before him, aboard a train to The Hunger Games.

“Haven’t you had enough, Tom?” Sidney didn’t sound angry or irritated, but exhausted. Charlotte got the feeling that this was a daily conversation in the Parker household.

In response, Tom merely swiped a decanter of whiskey from the drinks cart, and stumbled into the seat Mary had previous occupied. He eyes briefly scanned Charlotte, as though weighing up her odds of survival, then landed upon his brother. He broke out into a grin, eerie like that of a shark's. “This has got to be a first, eh? A victor’s brother reaped.”

“It’ll go down in the history books for sure,” was Sidney’s reply, hollow and distant as if he was faraway.

“Certainly was one hell of a reaping day. Quite the show."

Charlotte couldn’t believe it, Tom’s nonchalance. Was he there to help them, or was he merely there for the refreshments? At present he seemed more interested in the free bar cart than his tributes.

When nobody else said anything, she leant forward in her chair, eyebrows furrowed. “So, when do we start?”

Tom, mid-swig, frowned at her. “Keen are we? Most of you aren’t so . . . eager.”

“In case all these years of binge-drinking has finally caught up to you and you’ve forgotten, but you’re supposed to be our mentor,” she snarkily replied, her frustration creeping into her voice. “You teach us how to get sponsors, how to play the crowd, how to stay alive.”

Tom appeared caught off guard, as though nobody, besides Sidney of course, had called him out on his behaviour in a very long time. Cocking his head, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, sweetheart, these are all things you should have considered before you got yourself into this mess.”

“Got myself into this mess?” she echoed. “How is this my fault?”

“You volunteered,” he reminded her with a smirk.

Her blood was boiling. “For my twelve year old sister,” she pointed out, fiercely. “I was hardly going to let her compete, was I?”

Tom shrugged. “And now you think you deserve special treatment because you’re better than ninety-nine percent of the population?”

“You don’t do special treatment, do you, _brother?_ ” Sidney spat. Was this a dig at her, or Tom? He then snatched the decanter of whiskey from Tom’s hands, he took a hefty swig before anybody could stop him. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he could sense Charlotte watching, so he offered her a drink.

She scoffed in disgust, then turned back to Tom. “So, mentor, any advice?”

Tom pondered the question for a mere few seconds before answering. “Embrace the probability of your imminent death, and know in your heart that there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

Enraged, she got out of her chair and left the room without another word. She didn’t want to cry in front of them, not when they cared so little.

After she had left the room, Tom turned to Sidney with a drunken grin. “I like her.”


	5. five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlotte struggles to get along with her fellow team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being so lovely! i promise an update for to be so lonely is in the works, i've just been swamped lately, and all these chapters were written a while ago.
> 
> let me know what you think!
> 
> enjoy, and stay safe <3

After a couple of hours huddled in the corner of the bar cart, holding her knees close to her chest, sobbing uncontrollably, Charlotte felt it was time to join the others. While she wasn't certain she wouldn’t be able to contain herself if somebody said something else offensive, she felt sure she wasn’t going to burst into tears over dinner.

As she stepped inside the dinner cart, she felt a pang of bitterness as she spotted Sidney and Tom locked in furtive conversation, as they tucked into their food. They were so wrapped in whatever it was they were saying that they didn’t hear her come in - it was only when Mary entered behind her, greeting her loudly, did they glance her way. She caught the end of Tom's sentence, and couldn’t help chipping in.

“ - That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

“What’s a good way to get yourself killed?”

Tom, who had sobered up somewhat, patted the seat beside him. “Asking too many questions. Come, eat something. You’re all skin and bone."

They feasted on roast duck in the sweetest, richest sauce you could imagine. All kinds of foods accompanied the dish, including tiny little corn-on-the-cobs and sugar snap peas. It was hard to focus on what he was saying when such an assortment of treats was spread out in front of her. Mary was sat at the head of the table, contributing here and there.

Sidney was also talking more, and he seemed slightly less reserved towards her. Once, though she could have imagined it, he even smiled when she passed him a glass of water.

“Tom was just telling us about the ever-changing arena designs,” he piped up, buttering a slice of bread. “And how this could impact our rate of survival.”

A factor she hadn’t even considered; she was so focused on the other tributes that she had forgotten to consider the terrain, which could mean life or death.

“See, if it’s all rubble, and dust, then most people will die of thirst or starvation before the Careers reach them. Or if it’s more water than it is land, you find that most tributes have never even learned how to swim. Again, they’ll probably drown before they get a spear to the chest."

She assumed this was supposed to reassure her. She understood, vaguely, what he was hinting at, though. Boiled down to it, the Games were about natural survival, not the bloodshed.

Charlotte took a bite out of a small, doughy creation her fork happened to stumble upon, and it felt as though every kind of flavour sensation she could imagine had burst inside of her mouth.

“Oh my God, what is this?” she asked, interrupting Mary mid-sentence.

“Dumplings - now what was I saying about - " she answered, almost dismissively.

“And this?” Charlotte inquired, through a mouthful of glorious dumpling, holding up a thin, pastry concoction.

“That’s a pancake with duck sauce - you’ve never had a pancake? Or duck sauce?” she asked, incredulous, raising an eyebrow.

Charlotte couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “I don’t think anybody has told you Capitol folk yet, but we’re starving. We don’t get three meals a day and, unless I go to extreme measures, we sometimes don’t even get one. Those of us in the Seam have never even eaten turkey. The most extravagant thing I’ve probably ever eaten is goat’s cheese.” She stopped only to heap more food onto her plate. She could hear Mary mutter something about table manners, but she didn’t care. She knew she was right. Those pancakes required no hunting, no illegal trading, no money, no work. She was not going to waste them. Looking up at Sidney, she saw that a lifetime of always having enough meant that he practiced good etiquette. Not a morsel fell from his fork onto his lap, not a crumb hung on his lip. “He won’t get it, that’s why he’s eating slowly and nicely. Me, well . . . "

Tom just shook his head, and turned the attention back to their previous conversation. Charlotte made certain to eat the rest of her food with her hands.

“Anyway, when I won, the arena was made out to be some kind of abandoned, crumbling city. The region was urban, and water and food were extremely difficult to come by. Most of the others were scrambling for the same ration packs, killing each other in the process. Me, I used my knowledge and skills to find food, to find shelter. The others, they looked around and saw cement and stone. To me, I saw an advantage. It was an abandoned city for fuck’s sake! There had to be a water supply somewhere! And food, well, that was trickier. You just had to know where to look."

Pointing a knowing finger at the two tributes, Tom smirked and took another swig of whiskey. “Of course for you two, it will be different. It’s always different. Got to keep the Capitol entertained,” he sighed. “What ever it is, you just have to think faster than the other tributes."

Charlotte nodded. Being an experienced hunter, she knew how to find water using the landscape and where to hunt her prey. Sidney, less likely.

“But what if it is all just rubble? How are we going to find water?” he questioned, knitting his eyebrows together.

“The Gamemakers are after a show. They won’t want us all dying of thirst or starvation in the first few days,” she was quick to explain. “The Capitol will grow bored of watching our mouths grow dry and our faces thin out. They’ll want blood, and we won’t be able to fight if we’re all too weak to move. Is that right?"

Tom, who seemed impressed by her understanding of how the Games worked already, smiled. “Exactly,” he replied. “This girl - I think you have potential."

Charlotte couldn’t help but grin at those words. Growing up in District 12, she hadn’t heard many compliments in her time. It was nice to hear somebody say something kind to her, and not because they had to.

“Now, go get some sleep you two, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow!” Mary instructed, shooing them out of the cart and into the adjacent one which led to their individual bedrooms. She shut the door on them, beaming through the glass. Up close, her make-up looked ridiculous. It seemed a shame - she was a very lovely looking woman naturally.

Suddenly, Charlotte realised just how close she was stood to Sidney. The corridor that they had been thrown out into was narrow, and forced the pair of them to be pressed rather snugly against one another. Their height difference was incredibly noticeable, with her eye level aligned with his collar bone. This close to him, she couldn’t help but be overawed with his muscles, defined greatly by his soft blue button down that hugged his figure. She quickly told herself that she was noting his strength, his potential advantage over her, and not his good looks.

Neither of them moved for a short while, and she wasn't sure why. She glanced up and found he was already looking down at her. Their eyes locked, and neither looked away. His dark eyes were gentle, for somebody so dangerous-looking. Surprising herself, she knew she could have gotten lost in them if he hadn’t have moved. Awkwardly sliding past her, he apologised, then disappeared down the corridor and into a room down the end.

Charlotte was frozen.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she dragged herself towards her room. Swinging the door open, she was stunned. Almost as if she was expecting to still be back home, in her cramped shack of a house, she searched the room for extra beds - but there weren’t any. _All mine_ , she thought to herself. She couldn’t believe it. Walking around the room, she ran her fingers along the velvet fabric that adorned the chair, the sleek mahogany of the dresser. It was all so . . . lavish and luxurious, she was certain to sit down anywhere would be a crime. She didn’t want to tarnish anything. However, when her eyes fell upon the four poster bed with it’s silk sheets, she couldn’t hold herself back. Launching onto the bed, she allowed her head to land softly on the plump pillows. She thought that this must be what it was like to sleep on a cloud. She couldn’t wait to tell Alison.

Alison. Right now she was probably laying in a freezing, rotting bed, with thin, sandpaper-like sheets to keep her warm. Her belly was probably rumbling. Her big sister wasn't there to sing her that special lullaby, and she wasn’t there to wipe away her tears.

"How selfish of me?” she muttered to herself. She had been sat on this train, gorging herself on extravagant delicacies and admiring the decor, when back home Alison was all alone. All her siblings were with their distant, hopeless mother.

Out of spite, she immediately flinched out of the bed and stood in the middle of the room. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Her eyelids were drooping, but she was too angry to sleep on _that_ bed. And even if she did choose to sleep, she couldn’t do it in her dress. That would run the risk of crumpling it, and she couldn’t ruin the only thing she had from back home. Well, her dress and her pin.

Sighing, and half-heartedly giving in, she rummaged through the drawers and found the simplest nightgown to wear, buried at the bottom. It was a pastel blue colour, with thin spaghetti straps, and a modest lace design. It was still rather grand, but the most austere.

She slipped it on, and realised that her head was pounding a little. Must have been from all the crying. Her stomach was fit to burst too, thanks to her growing herself at dinner. Taking in deep breaths, she decided that she needed some air. Her windows were locked, surprise, surprise. The Capitol didn’t want overwhelmed tributes launching themselves to their deaths - at least, not until the Games began and they could get it all on camera. Maybe she would have better luck in the main cart?

Silently, she opened her door and tiptoed her way out into the corridor. Her feet made a slight padding noise, and she felt her heart stop when she heard a door slam behind her - but she quickly realised that it was just the door separating the compartments, and it had slid open by accident. She continued on into the main cart, and sighed a breath of relief. She spotted an ice bucket, where most of the ice was still intact. Curiously, she eyed the whiskey, and then decided against it, swiftly. She had grown up seeing how the foul liquor had turned the gentlest of people into tyrants. Instead, she wrapped up a bundle of ice in a hand towel left on the side, and brought the makeshift icepack to her head. Immediately, she felt more at ease.

Well, that was until she swivelled around and found Sidney hovering at the end of the cart, with only his boxer shorts on.

After tearing her eyes away from his defined torso, she saw that he was crying. Not a sound came from his lips, but the tears were flowing plentifully from his eyes. A glass of whiskey was in his hand - perhaps the dependency on the drink was hereditary?

Unsure of what to do with herself, because he hadn’t seen her yet, she chose to slowly try and back away. However, she must have stepped on a creaking floorboard, because immediately he straightened himself up and turned to look upon the face of the intruder.

“Sorry, I just came for some ice,” she muttered, holding out the icepack as evidence. “I’m just leaving, don’t worry."

Turning her back on him, she hastily made her way to the door, until he spoke, softly.

“Do you think we’ll get to see them again?” he asked, quietly.

Glancing back at him, dropping her hand from her head, she took a few steps forward. She knew exactly who he was referring to, and she honestly didn’t know what to say. Of course there was no _‘we’_ , because only one of them could win, but she knew what he wanted to hear.

“I believe that we’ll see _all_ of them again, whether we make it back or not. If we come back alive, we can go home and live a long, happy life with them all. If we don’t survive in there, then we’ll get to see those already gone. The others will join us soon enough. That’s what’s going to get me through. Either way, I get to see the ones I love.” She was sincere and truthful.

That is what she believed. It didn’t explicitly answer his question either. Because _‘will we get to see them again?'_ wasn’t what he was truly asking. It was actually _‘will we die in there?’_. She couldn’t look him in the eyes and lie to him. She didn’t know if either of them would make it home. But she was going to give it her best damn try.

Sidney nodded, and she smiled at him, as warmly as she could manage. In that moment, everything in their past seemed to blur all into one, and none of it mattered. There was no tension between them. No expectation of how to behave and nobody owed anyone anything. This was what provoked her to continue the conversation. That, and the opportunity to continue admiring his muscles.

“Before we left, Alison told me that she’ll still love me, no matter what happens in the Games. She said that she’ll understand that I won’t have had a choice if . . . if I have to kill somebody in there. That nothing I do will be because I want to. Alison, a twelve year old girl, told me that _'she’ll understand'_ ,” she sighed, as tears started to spill onto her cheeks. Just the mere mention of her was enough to make her want to bawl her eyes out. “Diana will understand too, and Arthur. They’ll still love you."

Appreciative, Sidney smiled at her, sorrowfully sweet.

Suddenly painfully aware of the thin material covering her body, she said her farewell, and began for the door again, but not before some parting words of advice.

“That stuff - " she began, gesturing to the whiskey floating in his hands. “ - is liquid death. Unless you like the thought of a hundred drums and whistles going off in your head at once, don’t touch it. Trust me."

The sound of Sidney Parker’s laughter was the last thing she remembered before blacking out. That, and the feel of his solid, secure arms catching her.

When she next awoke, she was bundled up in silky, orange sheets, on a bed she didn’t recall climbing into. Subconsciously, her hand slid across the mattress, reaching out for a slumbering child curled up beside her. She hadn’t heard anybody stir once last night. However, the space beside her was cold. Stone cold.

Instantly her eyes flew open, and she shot up, calling out Alison's name. Horrid thoughts began to race through her mind. “Alison? Harry?”

Suddenly, like a bucket of ice to the face, she remembered. She was no longer in District 12. She was on her way to the Capitol, to compete in The Hunger Games. Alison and Harry were back home, with the others she had left behind. Tears clouded her eyes, when she spotted a figure hunched in a chair in the corner. A blanket strewn over his knees, he looked as though he had just woken up. She suspected that it was her fault.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” she demanded, jumping out of bed, wrapping the duvet around her torso to protect her modesty. That nightgown was not a wise decision in hindsight.

Standing up, he began to fold his blanket into a neat square. “Actually, this is my room. You passed out in the main cart last night, and your room was locked, so I had to bring you in here."

He spoke so casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal. She supposed that it wasn’t - really, he did her a favour. However, she just couldn’t shake an odd sensation that trickled down her spine, and that caused her to be irrational. “So what, you just jumped at the chance to throw me into your bed, did you?” she roared, with knitted eyebrows. She knew she wasn’t being fair. She knew he was trying to help her. And yet, she couldn’t control her anger. Waking up, in a stranger’s bed, without a familiar face sleeping by her side, it scared the life out of her.

Sidney looked at her, with disbelief. “I did the decent thing, okay? I could have left you to freeze in that cart, unconscious and in a pool of your own vomit. What would Tom and Mary have said if they found you like that? So rather than biting my head off, you should be thanking me!"

With his words, she felt a huge surge of humiliation. Not only had she passed out, but it was in her own sick? Sidney would have had to clean up after her. A blush crept up on her cheeks. The list of debts she owed him were just piling up, one after the other.

“I’m sorry, Sidney . . . I - “ she tried to say, but he cut her off, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he sighed. “I’m going to take a shower, you should be alright getting back into your room now."

And with that he disappeared into his bathroom, leaving her red-faced and guilt-racked, stood pathetically in the middle of the room, draped in the bedsheets. _His bedsheets._


	6. six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlotte meets her stylists, and makes an explosive entrance in the games.

Charlotte spent the remainder of the journey avoiding Sidney.

She had deduced that her sickness was due to her gluttony at dinner, wolfing down any and everything. The food was far too rich for her inexperienced palette, resulting in her body to react in an extreme way. A natural and rational reason, but still humiliating. She also realised that it made her seem weak; rendered unconscious and violently ill by a couple of dumplings.

If Tom and Mary noticed anything tense between the pair of them, they said nothing.

Their train arrived in the Capitol at around two-thirty that day, and above all the grandeur of the city, Charlotte was more astounded by the overwhelming amount of support they were shown by the residents. They cheered, and applauded as the tributes stepped out onto the platform, even screaming their names.

Frozen, unsure of what else to do, she waved at them. This sent the assembled crowed into some kind of frenzy. People began to throw flowers at her feet, so she reached down to pick up a rather synthetic looking rose, pristine white. She sniffed it, and the surprising scent of vanilla shot through her nose; she knew it was vanilla because on a Saturday morning in the bakery, as a special delicacy, these small vanilla swiss rolls would sit in the window, enticing even the poorest passersby to stop and take a sniff. She had yet to try one.

Mary called out her name when she looked back and saw how far behind Charlotte was. She gestured for her to walk at quicker pace, harping on about her beloved schedule.

“ - and you have and appointment with the prep team at three, and then you’re to meet with Susan - though she’s new this year, I’ve heard she’s quite the connoisseur. Depends what time you finish in the Remake Centre - though do try and ensure you’re done for six - we will feast, and talk plans for tonight, because of course it’s the opening ceremony. That is perhaps the most crucial part; first impressions. Big, big day ahead of us, yes?"

Everything about Mary was so sugary, and over-exaggerated, it was hard for Charlotte to pay attention to what she was saying. Suppressing a laugh, she just nodded.

“Uh huh. Big, big day."

A team of plainly dressed assistants helped them with their luggage, which of course for Sidney and Charlotte meant nothing. Mary had insisted on bringing seven suitcases, three she was certain were fit to burst with hats. She was persistent she was the kind of woman who could pull off wearing a plethora of hats.

Their rooms were even bigger in the Training Centre, where a tower had been built especially to house the tributes and their teams. Charlotte's room was easily the size of her entire house back in District 12. It was ridiculous why one person would need so much room. It wasn't as though she had anything to store away, nor was it likely that she would return here after the Games. There might not even be an ‘after the Games’ for her.

Unable to even consider home right now, or her chances at a life after the Games, she instead turned her focus to inspecting her room. She discovered a bookshelf filled with hidden gems. The bookshelf back home held only two books; _Girl on Fire_ by Suzanne Collins, a fictional novel about a young girl who sparked a rebellion, and _Sanditon_ by Jane Austen, a historical account of how the country was raised from the ashes after the Dark Days. The were quite good reads, even if the latter could be quite dull at times. However, here, on the shelf in her room, stood hundreds of novels, just waiting to be picked up. The scent of fresh pages was exhilarating.

Finally, she found one that peaked her interest, called _Not To Disappear_ by Nicolas Soak. It was about a little boy trapped inside the body of a king. Forced to make mature decisions, and put others needs before his own, he was severely unhappy. He just wanted to be treated like a child, allowed to play with the wooden toys and go running in the stream, but instead he fought battles and enforced laws. This story resonated so strongly with her, which was probably why she chose it.

She had gotten so engrossed in the book, that she hadn’t realised Mary had been calling her name for two minutes; the prep team was ready for her.

Charlotte walked in silence with Sidney, and it was neither awkward or uncomfortable. They reached the end of a long corridor, where there were two doors. Her name was scrawled on one, his on the other. Without saying a word, they both disappeared inside their respective rooms.

Nothing could have prepared her for what was on the other side. Three women were stood on ceremony, hands clasped, with wide, unnerving beams on their faces. They were vibrant; quite literally. The smallest one was tinged fuchsia pink, with chestnut hair tied up into childish pigtails, the end strands dyed bright crimson. The tallest was pea green, with muted purple locks, again dyed a loud pink colour. The last woman had no hair, but however was entirely blue, two different shades in fact. An aqua, and a cobalt colour.

After her vision adjusted to the eyesore that was her prep team, Charlotte gave them an anxious smile. “Somebody should have sent me the body dye memo,” she joked, to break the discomfort. Never in a million years would she ever consider bleaching her skin. “I feel underdressed!"

They all laughed almost immediately, which eased the whole situation. She didn’t feel underdressed in the slightest - far from it. If anything, she felt like the only sane person in the room.

Bustling forward, they were eager to meet her. She went to introduce herself, but of course she knew who she was. They were brimming with compliments, or at least she assumed they were compliments, as they got to work ripping hair off of her body.

“Oh, I would kill for your figure! Shame, I adore exercise too much."

“What an interesting chin you have! Is such a strange feature common in your family?"

“How refreshing it is to meet a young girl with such natural looking eyebrows. Nobody seems to let theirs' grow wild any more."

After three hours of rigorous, and sometimes excruciating, beauty treatments, they declared her officially ready to meet her stylist.

“Don’t look so nervous, Charlotte. Lady Susan’s an artist,” the pea green one assured her, as she and the other stylists left.

She had been waiting barely a minute, lying on the metal slab, clad in only the pale blue gown, when she shot up. She was sick of feeling like she was under a microscope, as though she was some scientific experiment. There was a thin air duct in the corner of the room, blowing out a steady stream of sterile air that tasted like the bleach they had used to scrub her skin clean. Desperate for fresh air, she decided that the manufactured air would have to do. She held her face to the vent, and took a deep sigh.

“My sentiments exactly,” came a voice behind her.

A woman appeared in the doorway, dressed head-to-toe in simple cream coloured garments. She was, presumably, Lady Susan. It surprised her at how normal she looked, how beautiful, when all the other stylists on the screen appeared surgically altered. She was her mother’s age, perhaps younger, and made no attempt to hide her ageing the way most Capitol citizens did. There was something comforting about her smile and the soft twinkle of her eyes, that made Charlotte instantly trust her.

“Hello Charlotte, I’m Lady Susan and I’m going to be your stylist,” she spoke, gently. She outstretched her hand for Charlotte to take, which she did. “But you can call me Susan."

She took a seat next to her tribute and clasped her hands together. Her eyes roamed all over Charlotte's face, taking in every detail. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel awkward at all under the woman’s scrutiny.

Before she lost her nerve, Charlotte thought she’d take her chance and ask the question that had been weighing on her all afternoon. “I’ve heard only good things about you Lady Su - Susan, so I’d like to take this moment to ask you to reconsider dressing us up like miners again this year? It’s all the District 12 tributes are ever dressed in, and we’re always the laughing stock. I don’t doubt that you - “

“Charlotte,” Susan said, with a squeeze of the hand and a smile. It seemed that she had been trying to get a word in for a while. “I promise those hideous overalls are the last thing I want you to be seen in.”

With a faint chuckle, Charlotte relaxed somewhat. “Oh. That’s good. Sorry, I’m inclined to talk too much.”

“My dear, talk away. Please.” _'These might be your last ever conversations'_ hung in the air above them both. “May I ask who that girl you volunteered for was?” she inquired, in a truly genuine manner. The question visibly took Charlotte aback, though she was more than willing to answer. Susan seemed as though she wanted to get to know her for _her_ , not because she was her tribute to decorate.

“Alison. My sister."

Susan made a sympathetic sound. “You two certainly look alike."

“Most people say that,” Charlotte replied, with a grin that usually appeared when she discussed her siblings. “Twins run in my family, which I suppose accounts for all of us looking so similar. I’m one of seven, and my mother liked to joke that she’ll never be able to lose us in a crowd."

Susan laughed, a lovely, melodic sound. She reached out and took Charlotte's hand in hers. “I’m not going to pretend that I’ve had life any harder than you, because we both know that’s absurd, but please know that I understand a small fraction of what you’ve had to go through. People in the Capitol assume that missing a nail appointment is just as gruelling as what people like you go through in the districts. They haven’t a clue. I haven’t a clue. I’m here, to make this as easy for you as possible. I’m also here as a pair of ears. Don’t think you can’t talk to me about anything, okay?"

Smiling, Charlotte nodded. “I appreciate that. Really, I do."

Grinning back at her, Susan hopped off of the table, and held a hand out for her so she could do the same. She got her to twirl a little, and with a pair of analytical eyes, she watched closely. Getting dizzy, Charlotte stopped and waited for her to say something.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” she finally said, her arms crossed, clutching her chin. There was nothing romantic about the way she said those words, it was purely from a professional point of view. That didn’t mean it didn’t feel nice to hear it. “I have the perfect dress for you - if you’ll let me show you?"

Eagerly, Charlotte beamed. “Yes, please."

It was half seven when she finally returned to the Tribute Centre, where Mary, Tom and Sidney had already began eating. A wonderful spread of assorted sandwiches and rolls had been laid out, with every kind of filling. Her stomach grumbled at the mere sight of food, her appetite hardly dented by the disastrous evening the night before. She took her seat, fully aware of the three pairs of eyes glowering her way.

“What time do you call this, young lady?” Mary demanded, with flared nostrils. Tom was tapping his fingernails on the table, whilst Sidney finished off a cranberry and turkey sandwich, looking at her with clear curiosity.

“Susan was just showing me some of her designs for tonight. The dresses she makes are exquisite, really,” she explained, helping herself to a lettuce and chicken roll. “We picked one out for the ceremony. You’ll love it."

They were all stunned by her sudden enthusiasm, and she relished in their shocked faces.

“Oh, well . . . that’s great,” Mary finally said, calmer. “Can you divulge any details about said dress?"

Grinning, Charlotte leant forward, excitedly. “She’s going to set me on fire."

The reactions she received at this statement were altogether amusing. She could have quickly explained it wouldn’t be real fire, but it was far more entertaining to let them all assume.

“ _What?_ Is she out of her mind? Why are you grinning? Why are you laughing? It’s not funny, Charlotte, he wants to set you on fire!” Sidney rambled, as he shot out of his chair, eyebrows knitted, and his mouth wide in shock. His expression was a mix of disbelief and confusion.

“Well, it seems everything I’ve heard about Susan, all these glorified reviews, have been falsified! Turns out she’s a stark, raving lunatic!” Mary exclaimed, throwing her napkin to the table in a huff, frowning. “I’ll have to have a word with the committee about this, it seems once again, District 12 have drawn the short straw. It’s completely bigoted, you know. You wouldn’t have suggestions like that if you came from District 1!"

“I like it,” Tom suddenly buried out, with a widespread smile on his face, leaning back in his chair. His involvement, let alone his enthusiasm, stunned Charlotte. “An explosive entrance from District 12 to get people talking - it’s clever."

She grinned at him, her first real grin. Admittedly, he hadn’t been at all friendly towards her of late. Civil, yes. Helpful, she supposed so. Warm-hearted, certainly not. Mary assured her that the word _‘warm-hearted’_ wasn’t even in Tom’s vocabulary, but she couldn’t help but notice how he would lean towards Sidney in a conversation, and always be the first to answer his question.

Assertively, Charlotte told herself that she wasn’t jealous, that he was just looking out for his brother. Somehow, though, a nagging voice in her head constantly kept feeding her negative thoughts. For instance, he favoured him. Anyone in their right mind would; Sidney was perfectly charming at the best of times, not to mention incredibly handsome, and insightful, whereas Charlotte more mouth than anything else, which often did her more harm than good. It concerned her deeply to think how far Tom's favouritism ran, and what it would mean for her in the Games. She’ll have no chance of surviving if Sidney was the one receiving all the sponsors’ gifts and all the praise back in the Capitol.

She would have to step up her game. She couldn’t afford to let Sidney get the upper hand, even if it could cost him his life. Even if it would put her conscience at serious unrest. Even if it meant she'll have to lose him. It was a Game after all.

“So for a better shot at getting noticed, you’re going to let this mad woman set Charlotte up in flames?” Sidney himself questioned, still stood, tall and impressive.

“Yes,” was Tom's short answer, in a monotonous tone. Dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, he pushed his chair back and hobbled over to the drinks cart, refusing any assistance from the silent servers.

Sidney scoffed, perhaps in disgust, and then turned his attention back to his fellow tribute. Something about the way his eyes moved onto hers, softening ever-so slightly before they were hardened by that wall he put up, made he wonder. Made something stir in her chest.

“It’s not real fire,” she sighed, picking out a smoked ham and cheese sandwich from the shrinking pile on the table. She noticed she had been shovelling food down her neck for the past day, as though she'd never had a meal before. On some part, that was true. “Susan explained how it works to me. It’s artificial, of sorts, and won’t be touching our skin - just the costumes."

“Our? Costumes?” Sidney repeated, frowning, however considerably more calmer. “What do you mean by our?"

“Oh, sorry, did I not mention? She wants to set both of us on fire. Or at least our costumes. Happy Hunger Games."

Sidney shook his head, exhaled sharply and took his seat. He didn’t say another word for the rest of dinner.

Later, after Charlotte had polished off the last of the sandwiches, they were both whisked away to their respective prep teams, to be made ready for their first official Capitol appearance.

Sidney only took around forty-five minutes, and fifteen of them were just his stylist trying to coax him into the outfit. When Charlotte emerged, decked out in her lavish dress, she found him tugging at his raven black trousers, groaning. He looked up at her, sensing her presence, and his jaw quite literally dropped.

Blushing under his gaze, she caught her reflection in one of the gleaming carriages, and she was shocked with who she saw staring back at her. Never had she ever worn make-up before, and she hadn’t been certain the impact it would have on her features once it was on. Somehow, her dark chestnut eyes were sparkling through the smokey, black powder that surrounded it, intricate little ink designs framing her eyes. Her lips were bigger, plumper even, and a subtle peachy colour. Her cheekbones, which were usually faint at best, were accentuated greatly, and she found that the way her chocolate locks had been braided into a sort of crown atop of her head made her appear elegant and poised - two words she would never have associated herself with at all. Her dress was jet black, and made out of this figure-hugging, lace material that caused her to feel light-headed. It was tight and felt as though it were a second skin. She looked and felt nothing like herself.

Charlotte walked over to the District 12 carriage, where the rest of her team was awaiting her. Once again, she was late, and once again she could tell she had frustrated them simply by their frantic pacing.

“Where is that blasted . . . " Tom began, trailing off when she appeared by his side, alerting him with a sigh.

Soon enough, the team had gone from a grumbling and discontented group of people, to one of complete silence, all dazed. She wasn’t sure if that was a good reaction, or a bad one.

“What’s wrong? Too much?” she asked, concerned. Immediately, she brought her hand up to her face, only for Susan to gently brush it aside.

“Charlotte, don’t be embarrassed,” she muttered, softly, with a reassuring smile.

“You are absolutely sensational, my dear!” Coulson coos, looking me up and down with comfortable satisfaction.

The other stylists were nothing but complimentary, and truly this time, no questionable double meanings. Politely, Charlotte thanked them, as she was told to mount her carriage. Tom approached her as she climbed aboard, and in a hushed voice gave her perhaps her first bit of real advice.

“Hold your head high, and show them why District 12 is going to have a victor this year."

She nodded, though wondered why he had only told her and not Sidney. Maybe he had already spoken to him beforehand.

It was a tight, compact space, the carriage, and it forced her and Sidney’s hands to brush against one others. She shivered, though not entirely sure why. Glancing up at him, she couldn’t deny that he looked incredibly handsome and, somehow, more mysterious than usual. He caught her eye, and she hastily averted her gaze elsewhere. She scanned the other tributes, as they too clambered into their carriages. A lump rose up in her throat when she saw how young some of them were. She hadn't realised, or wanted to, that at seventeen she was among the eldest, and Sidney being eighteen was perhaps the oldest one in the competition.

What surprised her more, however, was that everybody was looking back at her and Sidney, intently, with a mixed bag of emotions. Envy, hostility, loathing, malice, spite. She noted that they must have been given the best stylist in the Games, because everybody else looked ridiculous. For example, District 1, whose industry was luxury, were clad in matching fuchsia pink fur coats, and wore so much glitter she was temporarily blinded just looking at them. District 5’s tributes, whose industry was power, wore some kind of silver garment, decorated with large, foam lightning bolts that made standing so close in a carriage almost impossible.

“They’re all staring at us,” she muttered to Sidney, unsure of where to look.

He simply chuckled, and bent down to whisper in her ear. “They’re all staring at _you_."

“Not just me,” she shot back quickly, though she instantly felt a little hot under the collar.

“Trust me, it’s all you,” he replied, and she could hear the sincerity in his tone just as easily as she could see his lips form around the words. “You’re breathtaking."

Charlotte couldn’t hide the blush that crept up onto her cheeks and was undoubtedly showing, despite the amount of make-up she was wearing.

Thankfully, Susan appeared from behind and called up a warning. In her hands she held a torch, which held the artificial light. The tributes braced themselves, expecting some kind of searing pain, or unbearable heat, but nothing happened. Charlotte could hear the crackling of fire, and even saw the lick of flames wrap around her arms, but felt nothing. Laughing, she turned to Sidney, holding out her dress.

“Isn’t this incredible!” she exclaimed, and to which he merely nodded.

All of a sudden, the carriage leapt forward, as the procession begins. They were moving faster than she had anticipated, so she clutched onto the railings for support. She could hear the roar of the crowd as each cart of tributes made their way down the strip. Her heart was pounding, and all of a sudden, the enormity of everything struck her, like a slap in the face. Their carriage, pulled by two very magnificent, raven-coloured horses, was thrown out into the open and the audience went ballistic. Their enthusiasm and exhilaration hit her in waves, and she felt extremely dizzy. Swaying slightly, she feared she would topple over, when she felt a hand slip it’s way into hers.

“They’ll love it,” Sidney muttered, as at first she flinched. Looking into his eyes, and seeing that softness once again, she allowed him to hold her. _I need the balance,_ she told herself, trying to compensate for why she gave in so easily. However, she couldn’t explain why the feel of his hand in hers caused an eruption of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

With her other hand she caught a rose, very similar to the one she was given earlier, and sniffed it. This time, it smelt of lavender, curiously. Why was the Capitol so set on modifying the way their flowers smelled? Why was it that the Capitol were so excited by the sight of two tributes, raising their joined hands to the sky? Why did the Capitol cheer as twenty-three children marched to their deaths?

At the end of the strip, she looked up and found the President awaiting them all with an ageing smile. His hands were clasped together, as he stood behind a podium, adorned with Sanditon’s emblem.

He shared with the assembled crowd and tributes his traditional greeting monologue, that somehow managed to sound almost exactly the same as every other Sanditon officiated speech. It was traditional that whilst the President was speaking, the camera cuts to each tribute for a brief few seconds, before moving onto the others. However, Charlotte noticed, with a jolt, that Sidney and her were receiving much more screen time than the others. Sidney’s words echoed back to her, causing a blush that was probably going to be broadcast all over the country.

Then, the national anthem was played, and a respectable silence befell the whole city. Not a cough, not a rustling, not a toddler’s cry could be heard anywhere. In fact, the only sound that cuts through the music is a lone mockingjay that flew absentmindedly over their heads. She caught the President’s eye, and there was something devilishly unsettling about the way he was smiling. He inclined his head towards her, and she did nothing but stare back, trying desperately to figure him out.

The music finished with a flourish, and almost immediately the chariots were whisked away in the same order as the way they came out. Charlotte realised that she hadn’t let go of Sidney’s hand the whole time, and his knuckles had gone white. He hadn't said anything, though. He hadn’t complained once.

They finally retreated back inside the Tribute Centre, where their team awaited them with adulation. Mary was the first to welcome them back.

“Oh, you two that was splendid, it really was!” she cooed, helping them off the carriage, as the fire extinguished itself, efficient like the flick of a switch. First time in heels, paired with the jittery nerves of being broadcast to the nation, Charlotte found herself incredibly unstable. “Both of you looked devastatingly divine! Sidney, you dark horse, oh how the ladies in Sanditon will go wild for your jawline! - and you, Charlotte! That thing you did with the rose - ugh, my heart filled with compassion! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, the pair of you!"

Concealing her laugh with a smile, Charlotte hugged Susan, who was struggling not to laugh too. “My dear, you are heart-stopping in that dress."

“Isn’t she?” Sidney interjected, though she suspected he hadn't wanted her to hear. Instead, she thanked Susan once again for the wonderful job she did of making her opening-ceremony-ready.

“Right, back to work everybody! There’s a lot to do before tomorrow!” Mary called, clapping her hands together, already rushing towards the lift. 

Before Charlotte could stop herself, she muttered; “As if this isn’t work. I don’t want to be here.” Nobody heard.

Except, when she spotted Sidney out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but wonder; _do I want to be here?_


	7. seven.

“Charlotte Heywood, the girl on fire!” everybody called as she entered the room, clean-faced and dressed in comfy and casual clothes she could actually breathe in.

She smiled and greeted them all in turn. Susan embraced her warmly, and she beamed at her the biggest. Mary kissed both cheeks, whilst Tom simply nodded his head, signalling that now, not ever, will he ever let her hug him. On the other hand, her prep team were ecstatic and welcomed her all at once. Then she finally met Sidney's stylist and his prep team. They were nice, and full of praise. Last but not least, she said hello to Sidney. They didn’t hug or shake hands, merely acknowledged the other's presence with a slight smile.

They all then sat down to eat their dinner, and she noticed that Sidney and her were seated rather snugly beside one other. Her hand brushed his, and in unison they apologised.

Mary raised her glass, filled with a celebratory, sparkling concoction, as the rest of them followed suit. “To District 12,” she spoke, in a light and joyous tone. “And, if I do say so myself, the greatest entrance into the Games in seventy-four years!"

They all cheered and clinked their glasses, then brought the cup up to their lips. The liquid was sweet and fruity, and you couldn’t have guessed it was alcoholic until you swallowed and that familiar fiery sensation tingled your tastebuds as it slipped down your throat. Food was served too, a mouth-watering beef stew, brown rice, and steamed vegetables. Charlotte decided to pace herself, not wanting a repeat of her first night on the train. She could feel Sidney’s gaze on her, as he was thinking the exact same thing.

Chatter was mainly about what the other tributes wore and how District 12’s costumes were so much better than anyone had anticipated.

“We have Susan to thank for that,” Charlotte interjected, with a grateful smile in her direction. She bowed her head in appreciation. “Without her, nobody would have given us a second look."

“Now don’t be so dubious, Charlotte,” Mary cooed, placing a hand on her tribute's in a comforting matter. “You could have gone out there, stark naked, and they’d still have loved you!” Charlotte wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this statement. Grateful? Disgusted?

“I think you two have set some kind of record for the amount of sponsors already willing to invest in you,” Tom pointed out, skewering a piece of beef with his fork and idly chewing it in his mouth. She was certain he was still on his first drink, and this in itself was a miracle. She wondered what brought on this change of pace? “We just have to figure out where your strengths and weaknesses lie before tomorrow."

Ah, the dreaded _tomorrow_. There wasn't a worse feeling in the world than the jittery trepidation of waiting. She really wished Tom hadn’t brought up the topic when she was in such a good mood - or at least as good a mood one can be in, given the circumstances.

“What can you do, Charlotte?” Mary asked, cheerily. “We know you can fight, and you could certainly talk your victims to death!"

A roar of laughter erupted as the words rolled off of her tongue, and Charlotte found herself gripping the handle of her fork just that little bit tighter. She noticed Sidney’s mouth twitch a little, as though he was suppressing a smile, and she couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed.

“She can hunt,” he told everyone, before she had a chance to even consider the question. “And she’s brilliant, too."

“I’m not that good,” she hastily corrected, with a tiny scowl. “Rarely do I - "

“She _always_ hits her prey, right in the eye, so she won’t spoil the kill,” he pressed, emphasis on always, making her out to be some excellent marksman. “Doesn’t she Tom? You’re always first in line for her rabbit.” Tom remained mute, though his complexion was tinged pink, as though he was embarrassed. "He says he likes it not only because it’s good produce, but because he likes the idea of you putting your neck out on the line to put food on the table."

For some reason, the idea of her name being mentioned in Sidney’s home sent shivers down her spine. She tried to picture the scene; Tom, perhaps inebriated, who had hardly said two nice words to her the entire journey thus far, tearing apart her rabbit with his knife and fork, commenting on how tasty the meat was. She focused in on Sidney’s reaction - pleasantly surprised, though she couldn’t imagine what he would be saying.

“Please, it’s by chance that I ever hit it in the eye.” She didn’t know why she was being modest, making her skills seem adequate, when in fact she knew them to be distinguished. Besides Stringer, she was the only hunter in District 12, and as far as she knew, the whole of Sanditon. Deep down, she guessed that, maybe, just maybe, she liked to hear Grant compliment her.

“It’s not by chance, and you know it” he said, looking her square in the eye. “Don’t underrate yourself. You’re better than you think you are. The majority of District 12 owes you their life."

This rubbed her the wrong way, the fact that he had noticed things like that. It made her uncomfortable.

“Well, what about you?” she asked him, knitting her eyebrows together. She turned to the rest of the table, who were all engrossed in their back-and-forth discussion. “Sidney can fight, and pretty damn well. I’ve seen him, at school. He boxes, you see, and he’s the best in - "

“What are you doing?” he cried, and she could see his fists clenched under the table.

“If anyone, out of me and you, is going to have a chance at surviving this, it will be the one who has at least a chance at fighting back!” she shot back. She could her voice rising in anger.

Slamming his fist against the table, he jumped up and looked upon Charlotte with the oddest expression. It was a mix between bitterness and empathy. She flinched as he did so, and dropped her fork on the floor.

“You don’t get to say that. You . . . you don’t get to,” he muttered, with an unsteady voice. His grip on the back of his chair was causing his knuckles to grow white. “You know, Tom told me something, after the reaping.”

“Sidney, that’s not - " Tom tried to interject, shakily. It was the first time he seemed uneasy, out of control.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Tom,” Sidney spat. Then with a deep breath he continued. "He said _‘that girl has a lot of courage to volunteer. When are you going to start showing that kind of courage? When are you going to make me proud?’._ "

She could tell, because of the pain in his eyes and the quiver to his voice, and the way Tom couldn’t bring himself to look up from his plate, that he wasn’t lying. And in that moment, she no longer envied the Victor’s brother with the full belly, and the six bedroom house between the four of them. She no longer saw him as the shy, little boy who had blushed when he gave her the bread. She no longer felt like she was the victim when she looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Sidney,” she muttered, half under her breath, half loud enough for him to hear.

He shrugged it off and chose to walk away, retreating into his room. She knew that it was her fault he left, and so felt horrendously guilty.

The rest of the dinner was eaten in silence, which was perhaps the worst option. It only left her to think about everything, about everyone. Alison, Stringer, her mother and siblings. _Sidney._ She mentally scolded herself, remembering why she was there in the first place. She couldn’t let herself get attached to him, because how was she going to feel if she had to watch him die in the arena? If it was down to the two of them in the final?

As the silent servers, who she soon came to learn were called Avoxes, who had their tongues horrifically cut out of their mouths, took their plates away, Susan, almost tepidly, continued with the previous conversation.

“So, you can hunt? What with, Charlotte?"

“Bow and arrows mostly, but my friend taught me how to make snares,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, giving herself some breathing room. She couldn’t have possibly eaten another bread roll if she tried. “But Sidney really is a good fighter, I’ve watched a few matches at school. He’s come first every year since he was fourteen."

Tom grunted in agreement, whilst Mary’s face lit up.

“You need to make sure you find yourself a bow and some arrows, and remember, there’s more to the Games then hunting,” was all he said, as he disappeared from the table. He hovered around the drink’s cabinet, then decided against it.

Feeling her spirits sink with a heavy thud, Charlotte downed the last few dregs of her drink, and asked for some more. As an Avox leant over her shoulder, she was overcome with guilt. Never had she had anyone wait on her before, and she didn’t think she would ever get used to it. She thanked her, with a warm smile. In the Avox's eyes, as dark as the coal back home, she saw a glimmer of empathy, before she returned to her spot by the beverages. This was when Charlotte knew she couldn’t get any lower; when even the Capitol slaves pitied her.

“Tom doesn’t mean to come across so hostile,” whispered a voice from behind her. Snapping her head around, she was relieved when it was revealed to be only Susan. She lead them over to the sofas, where they sat down across from one another. She smiled, comfortingly. “I think it’s in the job description: thirty-two year old alcoholic District 12 mentor - must not smile, under any circumstances."

Charlotte gave a soft giggle, and leant back in the chair, allowing herself to succumb to the warmth of the room, and the drowsy effects of the champagne.

“You should get some sleep, Charlotte,” she softly murmurs. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day."

She murmured her agreement. The next day would certainly be eventful; they began their three-day pre-Hunger Games training, and finally meet the other tributes.

-

Susan had come in that morning, at seven-thirty, after Mary had failed to wake her up three times before. She brought with her an outfit for Charlotte to wear, insisting that all the other tributes would be wearing the same thing. It was an all black ensemble, consisting of tight trousers, a tank top, and a pair of chunky boots. She asked her stylist to braid her hair down her back, and Susan had asked if it was her trademark. Charlotte laughed, and realised it probably was. Then, she escorted her to breakfast, where the mood was considerably chilly.

Sidney averted her gaze, though Tom was shooting her daggers from across the table. It only caused her head to spin more; less than twelve hours she had been certain he despised her, and already decided to favour his own flesh and blood in the Games. However, with Sidney’s revelation at dinner, what Tom had told him, Charlotte was unsure what to think. Had Sidney been hostile because Tom had chosen to plough all his resources into her?

Raising a glass of fresh orange juice to her lips, she listened in to the conversation, already in full swing. From what she could gather, it was about the day ahead, and what to do and what not to do when they met the rest of the tributes.

“Don’t show them you shoot, Charlotte,” Tom insisted, rather forcefully. “And don’t show them you know how to fight, Sidney."

“Why not?” she asked, confused. “Shouldn’t we be showing them all what we can do, not hiding? We don’t want them to think we’re weak - "

“That’s exactly what you want!” Tom sighed, rolling his eyes at her. “The more insignificant you are, the more likely you’re going to be ignored in the arena. You won’t be considered a target."

Thinking that over in her mind, Charlotte agreed with him. There was no possible way she could enter the Games, after allowing them all to know just how good she was with a bow and arrow, and expect to live longer then the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. They would certainly strike her dead before she could even reach it - that was, if there even was a bow and arrow for her to find.

“He’s right,” added Sidney, unable to look her in the eyes as he spoke, instead choosing to stare rather forcibly at his plate of scrambled eggs, which he had barely touched. The waver in his voice hinted at how nervous he truly was. Just as she was. “If you show the Careers just how well you can shoot, you’ll be at the top of their hit list once we’re in the arena."

Clenching her jaw, she hated the thought of standing back and playing weak. “So what, I just hang back and let them assume I’m puny and pathetic?"

“Yes,” answered Tom, with a sense of finality about him. She knew his patience with her was waning thin, and that she should just be nodding obediently, lapping up every word he said, like a good little tribute, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. “In fact, you encourage it."

Her eyes locked with Susan’s, and the obstinacy in her demeanour silently pleaded with Charlotte to keep her mouth shut. Sighing, she made her objection clear, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, she proceeded to chew on a piece of toast, absent-mindedly. She had a thousand and one questions running through her mind, and they were just itching to come out.

“Okay, so what about our actual training? I can’t pretend to be incompetent for three days, and then expect to be able to aim straight in the actual Games,” she explained, edging forward on her chair, dropping the toast on her plate.

Tom actually groaned, and looked down at his watch. “What was that - about thirty seconds of peace and quiet?” he grumbled. It was infuriating how he was treating her. She had to bite her tongue to refrain from talking back to him. If he was anybody else . . .

“Listen, both of you,” Tom began, talking as though he was addressing young children. “I’m going to be training both of you, one-on-one, or both at the same time - whichever you prefer. Are you capable of working together, or do I need to separate you?” His stare was particularly derogatory, and he spoke in a slow voice, ensuring that his tributes understood every word.

“Together is fine,” Charlotte replied, through gritted teeth. Sidney looked at her from the corner of his eye, and she wondered if he didn’t want to co-operate. In all fairness, they were going to be competing against one other soon.

“Good."

They all continued to eat in silence, and it was excruciatingly slow. Tom seemed to be eating every bite in slow motion, when Charlotte had finished her toast a good while before. She drummed her fingers against the table, in hope of breaking the silence, however it just seemed to get on everybody’s nerves.

“Can you not sit still?” Tom asked, curtly. “Is it impossible for you to behave in a polite and courtly manner?"

“Excuse me?” Charlotte burst out.

“It’s just you’re always moving, always fidgeting,” he sighed, as though my living caused him physical pain. “I wonder if it’s your upbringing that’s made you so unruly. Did your parents not bother to teach you simple manners - "

Charlotte had been focusing so hard on keeping her speech in check that she hadn’t given a single thought to her actions. The butter knife in her hand was released before she could stop and think, and flew straight for Tom’s head.

A chorus of gasps echoed around the table - Mary even shrieked. Fortunately for Tom, it sailed straight past his ear and landed in the wall behind him, chipping the indigo wallpaper. He didn’t flinch once, though turned behind him with raised eyebrows, to find the knife glinting in the morning sunrise.

“You missed,” he finally said, after the table had fallen silent, silent enough to drop a pin and hear it land.

“I wasn’t aiming for you,” she retorted, honestly, with narrowed eyes. She may have despised the man with a passion, but she wouldn’t wish him dead. Yet.

“Then good shot,” he smirked, taking her aback. She thought he would have lost it, consumed with rage. However, he seemed impressed. And this confused her. “I knew you were skilled."

Glancing to her side, she saw Sidney, and took some satisfaction in his mouth hanging open in shock, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. This was the kind of reaction she was hoping for. Not praise.

“You two better make your way down to the Training Room, if you’ve finished your breakfast,” Mary was quick to announce, before any more knives could be thrown. She was more than happy to have an excuse to leave the table.

Susan stood up to wish them luck, pulling Charlotte into a comforting hug, as her prep team called out words of encouragement. She thanked them all, and left, following Sidney out the door. He seemed rather eager to walk out too.

"Hey, Sidney!” she called after him, picking up the pace. He didn’t acknowledge her beside him. “Are you . . . are you not okay with Tom training us together?”

He sighed, and she took this for an immediate no. “I mean, you and I . . . we can’t get attached. One of us could be dead next week.” His voice was far away, as though he was trying his hardest to sound disconnected from the conversation. He still sounded nervous. It was contradicting, to see a young man of his appearance and capability experience such vulnerable emotions, like anxiety and concern. If it wasn’t for his last few words, she would have found it endearing.

“No, that makes sense,” she replied, nodding. His words stung, but she wasn’t sure why.

Not wanting to say anything else, both of them continued to walk on without speaking another word. They reached the Training Room in no time, though her concept of time could have been warped due to the constant whirring of thoughts spinning around her head.

Together, accidentally, they pushed the doors to the room, and were struck with what they saw. Twenty-two tributes, all of different ages and genders and sizes awaited them, surrounded by weapons of every kind. Charlotte's line of sight was immediately directed towards the glinting bow and arrow in the corner, but Tom’s words echoed in her head, and she refrained herself. Instead, she forced herself to be expressionless, and she allowed her feet to carry her over to the others.

“Ah Twelve, you finally deigned us with your presence,” sighed the woman in charge, stern-faced and bored-looking. Sidney glanced down at Charlotte instantaneously, as though waiting for her to lash out. She could see his eyes pleading with her to stay calm, though her fingers were itching to grab the hilt of the knives right beside her. His expression was enough to keep her in line.

“What I was saying was you are free to use any weapon you wish, and can train with the instructors waiting for you at each post. Do not engage in combat with another tribute; you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.” With her words, Charlotte heard a few nasty chuckles coming from the Careers at the front, their arms crossed. “However, don’t neglect the other stations. Plant identification and shelter building may not seem like the most exciting of ventures, but when you’ve mistaken a nightlock berry for a blueberry, or you’re sat out in the freezing rain, you’re going to wish you’d picked up the tools when you had the chance."

She knew the Careers were bursting at the seams to get their hands on the axes, and spears, and swords, and wouldn’t dare go near the kind of stations Tom encouraged her to go for. That, she supposed, was a blessing. At least that way she would have something to occupy herself with whilst she was pretending to be utterly useless.

The chief instructor then let them all roam free, _‘to get a feel for the stations’_. Charlotte made a beeline for the trap-making, and found that she was not alone. It seemed that the younger tributes had the same idea. Cautiously, they were wary not to disrupt or distract her, and that made her feel a twinge of sorrow. At least three of them were twelve, and the other two were thirteen. One even resembled Alison so remarkably that she had to remind herself where she was. She caught the stare of a little dark-skinned girl, and before she could turn away shyly, Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. She gave her a small smile back, and then returned back to her little trap. The others were having difficulty, but this girl clearly had done it before. Perhaps she was in a similar situation to her back home, and had to provide for her family.

One boy was watching intently as she looped a piece of string through this hole and that. He saw Charlotte acknowledge him, and tried to make himself look busy, but only ended up making a mess of things. His little, round face fell. Charlotte beckoned his over, and tentatively patted the space beside her. The boy held his knees close to his face, but watched keenly, with wide, illuminated eyes, as he was shown the knot in simple step-by-step instructions.

“You’re very good,” he whispered, in a small voice. Charlotte smiled, and held out the string for him to tie the final knot. As his thin fingers delicately formed a precise bow, Charlotte was reminded of somebody back home. _Stringer_ , she realised with a heavy heart. “You’re good too, you just need practice,” she told him, softly.

The little boy looked up at Charlotte and grinned widely. After that, the others all soon gathered round, and were nothing but obliging, and willing to learn. They picked it up faster than she had when she was their age, and not long after, she had got them all laughing and smiling. She could see the Careers observing her, sniggering amongst themselves, but she couldn’t care less.

She had no idea where Sidney was.

As the end of the day loomed closer and closer, she found that the little girl from earlier had made incredible progress. Her simple trap was perfect, but now she was able to make a rope trap that would ensnare large animals, and perhaps even people, and suspend them from the trees. She made a point of congratulating her, sincerely.

“This is really impressive,” she appreciated, her hands by her side, unable to tear her eyes away from the work of art. She thought that Stringer could have met his match in twelve year old Rose from District 11. Rose's traps rivalled his, no comparison. “Where did you learn to do this?"

Rose looked around, as though she was worried she could be overheard. Charlotte understood completely; she would never discuss her poaching habits in public, in case the wrong ears were listening in. She bent down to the girl's level, and tapped her nose, with a slight grin. Rose laughed, and leaned in. “My father taught me in the woods next to our huts. We would go out together and bring back squirrels and rabbits and grooslings for dinner."

“What’s a groosling?” she asked her. She knew what it was, she just wanted to make Rose feel more confident in her knowledge. “Is that like a goose?"

She found this assumption very amusing. “No, it’s like a turkey. Except they’re uglier, and squawk more."

“Sounds like that District 1 tribute,” she whispered, gesturing to the snooty-looking girl, hanging onto District 2’s male tribute, snorting with laughter at everything he said. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Skits like this were played out every year. A girl would pretend to find the strongest or the most prestigious male tribute ever-so charming and magnificent, and foolishly he would fall for it. They would team up in the arena, and after everybody else is picked off, ultimately the girl is the one to turn on the boy. It was certainly cunning, though not the sort of tactic Charlotte would be relying on.

“Who taught you to make traps?” Rose asked, with a curious glint in her gorgeous eyes. “Your father?”

Charlotte shook her head, and gave her a bittersweet smile. “A really close friend of mine."

“Oh.” With this, she realised that age played no part in wisdom, and that this girl seemed to possess it all. She knew that just by the tone in Charlotte's voice it was someone she missed, and that it was a sore subject. She understood far more than most people did. This little girl was so pure, and Charlotte respected her so much.

They were then all dismissed by the chief instructor, allowed back to their floors for dinner. She travelled back up with Sidney, who stood closer to her in the lift than he had done on the way down. She didn’t even mind; she was still thinking about the young tributes who had decided to trust her enough to allow her to assist them. She had learnt all their names, and their districts, of course, but then she had also learnt where their parents worked, how many siblings they had. They had all told her how they wish they had somebody to volunteer for them as she had for her sister. Their little voices, frightened and shaky, had melted her heart, and she did her best to keep their mind off of the Games.

“I saw you with the little ones,” Sidney spoke, gently. She turned to face him, and watched his expression as he spoke. It was soft, and conveyed admiration. “They really look up to you. You have some kind of gift, when it comes to children, don’t you?"

“I just like being around them,” she answered, modestly. “They make me want to be a good person. To do things that would make them proud."

“What an odd place to be thinking about morality,” Sidney added, pointedly. “In The Hunger Games."

And that was when she realised he was right. Morality had no place there, and neither did these children. There wasn’t a single chance that one of them would ever return home, except in one of the wooden coffins. The parents they told her about, their schools, their friends, their neighbours, their brothers and sisters - they wouldn’t ever get to see them again.

She had done such a splendid job of ensuring that the children forgot, at least momentarily, what they were all in the Capitol to do; to make sport out of murdering one another, that she had forgotten herself. That she had forgotten that these children were going to die.


	8. eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> allies are discussed, and charlotte is evaluated.

Training the next day was unbearable.

Charlotte walked in through the doors, only to be enveloped in the group of five eager little children, proudly showing her their successful traps. Plastering a smile on her face, she patted their heads and congratulated them, trying her hardest to sound enthusiastic. Clueless they all were, about what was to come. All but Rose, who she just knew could immediately see through the false grin she wore. She put her hand in Charlotte's, and squeezed reassuringly.

Pulling herself together, refusing to let the tears slip out and concern the little ones, she directed them over to the fire-building station. Rose, like her, knew that it was incredibly unlikely that any of these tributes would win, that even she probably wouldn’t ever get to go home, but she handled it marvellously. Charlotte revelled in her bravery, and decided that she was to be more like the astounding twelve year old.

Time flew by, and before she knew it, they were told that they were free to go. She waited for Sidney by the door, saying her farewells to the little ones as they all split off to their respective floors. A couple, two thirteen year old girls, hugged her, and one boy when gifted her with a small and delicate twig man he had woven from the branches. His eyes were a dazzling baby blue, and freckles dusted his cheeks. His smile was infectious, and Charlotte found herself still beaming even after he left, though through falling tears. Clutching the gift to her chest, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Sidney was stood in front of her, an odd expression cast over his face. She couldn’t decipher what it was.

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes hastily before the Careers could see, and thrust the door open, picking up her pace towards the lift. Sidney had no trouble keeping up. He reached the button before she did, and pressed **12** for them. The lift greeted them with a _ping!_ and they both bustled in. She knew questions hung on the tip of his tongue, so she turned her head away from him and out of the glass casing to the lobby growing smaller and smaller as they climbed higher and higher. Even from up there, she could spot the reporters and camera crew, even the crazed Capitol citizens, who began to scream at the mere sight of them. Holding her little stickman away from their beady eyes, she immediately turned away, disgusted.

They arrived back up to their floor in no time, and were greeted by the smell of steaming mugs of exotic teas. Mary pounced, quick to explain they were to help them relax and detox. Her prep team slithered up beside her, their luminous appearances far too much of an eyesore for her to even take in. Eager to impress her with their extensive knowledge of each tea, such as each one's particular use, she politely shrugged them off and made her way over to where Susan stood. She was in no mood to entertain them.

“How has your day been, my dear?”

Charlotte groaned in response, as she helped herself to a serving of ice cold water from a jug. “About as terrible as you could imagine."

There was nothing Susan could have said that made her feel any better. The arrival of their dinner provided her with refuge from a difficult conversation, as Charlotte gazed out of the window, captivated by the vast city below. How luxurious everything seemed. How expensive. She was surprised they couldn’t see the lights over in District 12.

She hadn't realised her name was being called by those seated at the table, until Sidney’s fingertips grazed her elbow, pulling her from her stupor. Long since pocketing her stickman, she found that it dug into her thigh as she sat down. However, she didn’t dare take it out in fear of the others seeing. She didn’t want to share it with them. She didn’t want them to know.

 _But Sidney knows_ , she realised. _Why doesn’t that bother you?_

Determined not to think too far into the matter, she picked up her knife and started to butter a slice of bread, tuning into the chatter. The conversation, once again, was centred mainly around strategies, and controlled by Tom. Tonight’s topic; allies.

“Is there anyone at training who strikes your eye? Any potential allies?” he inquired, chomping through the most succulent ribs he’d ever tried. Then again, they were prime beef ribs; the ones she had tried back home were horse. She had been assured there was no discernible difference really, but she disagreed.

“There is the girl from two,” Sidney started, when it was clear Charlotte had nothing to say. “She’s called Eliza, and she’s pretty handy with her knives."

She wasn’t aware she had dug her nails into the table until she felt a blunt jolt run up along her bones. When was Sidney with this Eliza girl? And what was with that stupid cheeriness in his voice all of a sudden? They were supposed to be . . . a team. They _were_ a team.

“Good, good,” Tom nodded his head, pleased. “It will be very beneficial to join forces with at least one of the Careers. How about you, Charlotte? Anybody take your fancy?"

She looked up to see all eyes on her, curious. The way Tom was looking at her - with doubt, was it? - infuriated her. So much so that she didn’t care what came out of her mouth.

“Yes. I’d like the girl from 6, the boy from 8, both from 9, and the girl from 11."

She could see them in their heads trying to figure out which face belonged to which tribute, and she watched their reactions unfold as they worked it out. They started to laugh, expecting a joke. Only Susan and Sidney remained straight-faced, knowing her better than the others to know when she wasn’t kidding. When she didn’t join in, the others soon realised too. Confused, and judging, she could tell they were trying to figure out why.

“You can’t be serious?” Mary asked, knitting her eyebrows. Charlotte's expression didn't change, and she leant back in her chair, breathing out a sigh of exhaustion. 

“Do you actually want to win the Games? I’m trying to work out your approach, your angle, and I keep coming up short,” Tom piped up, sounding exhausted. "Please, enlighten me, Charlotte."

“My approach, my angle, is to keep these kids alive,” she answered, with as much conviction as she possibly could force into her voice. “Did you know that District 11’s tribute is called Rose, and is only twelve? She has these amazing brown eyes, and can make the most impeccable traps with them shut. And District 6’s tribute has the prettiest smile, who is thirteen. She reminds me so much of Alison, that it’s absolute agony to look at her. The boy from 8 can’t even read but he has a knack for plants and their uses. And District 9's tributes are afraid of the dark and refuse to go near the weapons. How are they supposed to stay alive in the Games? How are any of them going to stay alive in the Games? Nobody else is going to help them, and nobody else is going to let them live. Sponsors won’t be lining up to send them gifts. I’m their only hope, their only chance."

Tom threw his hands into the air with indignation, whilst Mary stretched her hand out over to Charlotte, as though she could possibly make this situation any better.

“Listen sweetie, what about the promise you made to Alison? About returning home to her? Aren’t you the only family she has?"

“What about these kid’s families? What about promises they’ve made? Alison has five other siblings, and they have Stringer. He can look after them, he’s as good as family. I have to look after these children."

“The families who let their children enter the Games without any protest? Parents who just sat back and watched as their sons and daughters walked up to the stage? Siblings who hid, without any thought of volunteering? Those families?” Tom spat, nastily.

“Don’t act all high and mighty now, Tom,” she scoffed, shaking her head at him. “How long have you sat back and done nothing to help the District 12 tributes now? Twelve years? That’s twenty-four tributes you’ve let die. Twenty-four families you’ve disappointed. Your own brother is here, and all I’ve seen you do, this whole journey, is drink! You’re more interested in picking fights with me and being all high-and-mighty, not once offering him any advice! Who’s sitting back and watching now?"

The room fell into aghast silence, the inhabitants staring between Tom and Charlotte with lumps in their throats. Poisonously, Tom narrowed his eyes at her, and grinned maliciously. She raised a pointed finger at her hand, smugly.

“Careful now, I can still choose to save his life over yours,” he sneered.

“You haven’t already?” she demanded, accusingly. Then, she promptly disappeared into her room, leaning against the wall for support. She reached her room and immediately fell to the floor, sliding down the door, tears slipping from her eyes at an alarming rate. She felt as though she was being suffocated, an invisible weight pressing down on her chest.

Any attempt to come in and soothe her from the others was automatically rejected, as she ensured that the door was locked shut. Somehow, she made it to her bed and drifted off on the top of the sheets.

Before long, it was morning, and Mary was calling to her through the panelling.

Jumping in a cold shower, Charlotte scrubbed her face, washing away any trace of the night she had. Tear stains, the puffiness of her eyes, the bags, the blocked nose - all of it was gone by the time she reached the breakfast table. Unable to stomach the thought of consuming any thing, she allowed herself a sip of orange juice, before slipping off soundlessly to the training room.

She didn’t wait for Sidney.

When she arrived, she spotted only one other tribute waiting. Not even the chief instructor had showed up. How early was she?

He was the one from District 2. He had wheat-coloured hair, glossy, and somehow seemed older than he was, which was probably eighteen. Strong enough, she knew that he had been training for an opportunity to compete in the Games his whole life. Grinning at her as she made her way over, she disgusted to watch as he looked her up and down, approvingly. She was forced to stand next to him, or else present herself as intimidated by him. He took this as an opportunity to talk to her, and maybe figure her out. _Good luck to him,_ she thought.

“So, you’re that girl who volunteered from District 12?” he asked, cocking his head. “I’m Edward. I volunteered too, you know."

Not even meeting his gaze, Charlotte rolled her eyes at him. “I suspect not for the same reasons."

He threw his head back in laughter. “No, probably not,” he said, with a sense of finality about him. “You’re above all of this, aren’t you? You’ve got the Capitol sussed, haven’t you?"

“Listen, if this is you trying to belittle me, trust me, it’s not working."

“I’m simply admiring you,” Edward replied, slyly. It made her skin crawl. “You’ve got more brains than anybody else in this competition, and you’re certainly better looking. You could win this thing, you know."

“Lucky for you that I don’t care if I win or not, eh?”

“Now, I don’t think that’s entirely true,” he muttered into her ear, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. She looked up at him to see him smirking.

“You don’t know a single thing about me,” she retorted.

He chuckled. “Don’t look now, but we have company."

Charlotte turned her head, to see Sidney stood in the doorway, with a wounded looking expression. Maybe he thought she had decided to team up with the Careers too. That must certainly be how it looked to him; Edward whispering secrets in her ear, laughing at things she had said, her stood dangerously close to him.

The others soon started to spill in, and that included the little ones. She smiled warmly at each of them, as they returned her smiles. She was desperately trying to avert Sidney’s gaze, worried what she'd find in his eyes. What a fool he must think she was. What a fool of her to care what he thought.

Finally, the instructors arrived, and reminded them all that today was their last day to train. Tomorrow, they were due to showcase their talents in order to earn a mark from the Gamemakers. This score will be broadcast across Sanditon and will be the baseline for betters to make their initial bids, and for sponsors to hook their claws in first. She took this as a chance to inquire as to what kind of skill the little ones will share. Most had decided to stick with fire-starting, or trap-building, but she know Rose better than that. She wouldn’t tell Charlotte what she wanted to do, but she tapped her nose in an astute kind of way. Charlotte had ruffled her hair, and laughed.

Midway through the day, she was approached by Edward once again. Dragging her away from the little ones, she assured them she would be back soon. He seemed rather eager to make an impression. Maybe his team had pressed him about alliances the night before too. Did he want her?

Apparently so.

“I know that you’re hiding your talents, Heywood,” he smirked, keeping his voice hushed. “The others think you’re harmless, dopey even. They don’t see what I see."

Raising an eyebrow, she crossed her arms. “And what’s that?"

Reaching out and running a thumb along her hand, he gives a sly kind of smile; she suspected that it never failed back home, that he always got what he wanted. “The hands of a trained hunter.” Dropping his hand, he brushed his knuckles against her thigh, for a bit longer than could be considered an accident. “The legs of a skilled runner.” Trailing his fingers softly along the bones on her face, she shuddered, and pushed him away from her. “The eyes of an experienced killer."

Stepping further backwards, she mustered up a steely expression. “I’m no killer."

“Maybe not,” he murmured. “But my guess is that you’re a survivor, and I’m only interested in survivors.” He glanced behind them, at the group of little ones, all gathered around Rose’s fire pit, watching with wonder.

“I want you on my side, Heywood. But don’t bring the kids."

He winked at her, and then skulked off. She rolled her eyes, and returned to her preferred allies.

Once again, the time ran away from Charlotte, and she found herself stood in the lift next to Sidney. He was wound pretty tight up, and she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask him what was wrong. The doors opened, and she decided to retire to her room early, unable to bear the thought of sitting at the table with Tom scrutinising her every movement and word.

With a sigh, she rested her head against her pillow, and stared up at the ceiling. Her eyes began to droop, heavy and weighted. Before she slipped into dreams of being back in the woods with Stringer, or nestled up with Alison, she had one last waking thought.

_Could Sidney have possibly been jealous of her and Edward earlier?_

-

Charlotte awoke with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Today would be her last full day before she officially became a tribute in the 74th Hunger Games. Rolling onto her side, she glanced at the clock beside her, and groaned. It flashed 9:42am. Who knew, this time tomorrow she could be dead.

Leaving her bed was perhaps one of the worst sensations ever. There, it was warm and comforting, and all she had to do was lie there. However, physically making her bed was torturous. Just knowing that if today wasn’t as important as it was, she could just climb back in, and lose herself amongst the soft, cotton sheets. As if reading her mind, she heard somebody slip in the room behind her, checking that she had risen.

Expecting it to be Mary, or even Susan, she turned around with a forced smile plastered on her features. Instead, she found Tom, and all pretences slipped from her face. He was scowling at her, so she scowled back at him, crossing her arms.

“What?” she asked him, with a flat voice. “Come to find my hidden stash of booze? I’ll give you a clue; it’s in my knicker draw."

“Hilarious,” he sighed, showing literally no signs of emotion except boredom. “I came to talk to you about today. About how you’re going to astound the Gamemakers."

“Astound? I do believe that’s as enthusiastic as I’ve seen you all trip,” she teased, walking over to her dresser, and pulling out fresh underwear. Her training clothes were where she had last left them; in a heap on the floor.

“Can you just cut the jokes for two seconds?” he implored, sounding exhausted. “This is important."

“Why aren’t you telling Sidney this too?"

“I already have,” he answered, simply. “Yesterday, at the dinner you didn’t eat.” Just the mere mention of food and her stomach released a grumbling mewl, calling out for nourishment. “The Gamemakers aren’t going to expect much from you, seeing as though you’re from the least favoured district in Sanditon. And if you’ve done what I’ve asked of you, which judging from Sidney’s told me you, surprisingly, _have_ , then you two will have given the others nothing to be concerned about. You’ll need to capture their attention, okay? That means hitting the bullseye every time."

Nodding, Tom then left her to get dressed and wash, and greet them all a few minutes later for brunch. See, brunch was a concept people in the Capitol had invented, where even if you awoke too late for breakfast, but still too early for lunch, there was a meal that was hugely popular to help satisfy one's hunger. Though she doubted people here even knew the meaning of the word hunger.

Charlotte’s hair trailed down past her ear and down her shoulder, in her signature braid. She felt pleasantly rejuvenated, considering the nights she'd had. It apparently showed on her face too, as the others were much more eager to engage with her in conversation. Sidney, however, was the exception. It was as though she offered personally to hang his entire family when she asked him to pass her the scrambled eggs.

Piling a few slices of smoked salmon on to her soft and still warm bagel, she jumped full-heartedly into a discussion about interview tactics. Mary, of course, was dominating the topic, but Tom, surprisingly, was offering bits of advice here and there. He was in this position too, once upon a time.

“You need an angle, something to make the audience leap out of their seats and demand you be crowned victor already,” Tom pressed, stroking his chin as he glanced between Sidney and Charlotte, clearly deciding how to work us.

“What was your angle?” she inquired.

“Charming, of course,” he answered, in such a monotonous tone that she found her statement incredibly difficult to imagine, or even believe. “For Sidney, I already know how you’re to be presented. Charming too, alluring, good-natured. You’ll have the Capitol girls practically squirming in their seats."

Whilst Sidney blushed, she tried her best not to appear annoyed. Why would she be annoyed anyway? It wasn't as though she cared what other girls thought of him.

“But you Charlotte, you’re difficult,” Mary fretted, her eyebrows knitted in frustration. “We can’t have you going out there as your usual sarcastic self, they’ll think your sullen and hostile. And they won’t believe you if you pull a giggling schoolgirl act."

“I could always not say anything. I can be brooding and mysterious - it’s worked before,” Charlotte offered, before Mary could insult her any further. While she couldn’t help it, it was just her manner after all, it still irked Charlotte that Mary could be so insensitive sometimes.

Tom chirped up, scoffing. “As if you can be quiet for a whole six minute interview.” That backfired. “No, you’ll just have to be humble. Talk about Alison, talk about your dead father. Earn a few _‘oohs’_ and _‘awws’_ from the audience, and you’ll be set."

Even though she despised the idea of using sympathy and pity to gain attention from the crowd, she knew that it would be better to just nod and agree now, and come up with a better idea later. So, she poured herself a glass of orange juice, and said nothing more on the topic.

The conversation was civil and light-hearted for the remainder of the meal, which could be considered a first. It felt like Charlotte was sat among friends, right up until Mary asked if she'd had any better luck making allies. Wanting to shock them, she nodded, and give them a huge grin.

“Edward, the Career from District 2, told me yesterday he wants me on his side,” she explained, carefully examining their reactions. Clearly, none of them were expecting her to even mention one of the Careers, let alone consider an alliance with one - though in all fairness, there was no way in hell she would ever team up with him.

“That’s wonderful!” Mary cheered, sparkling. The others seemed so satisfied and pleased with her answer, that she didn’t have the heart to tell them she didn’t intend on taking Edward up on his offer. So, instead she just flashed them all a warm smile back. Glancing over at Sidney, she saw the spoon in his hand, bent in half, and floating around in his cereal bowl.

“How’s Eliza?” she pried, with a hint of snide sourness.

Exhaling deeply, Sidney took another spoon from one of the severs, and began to tuck into his cereal once more. “I wouldn’t know. She’s joined the rest of the Career pack. Edward’s allies. Soon-to-be your allies, hmm?"

His comment was paired with a quick acrid expression, and she couldn’t work out if it was because of Eliza leaving, or the fact she left to be part of Edward’s group. Immediately, she regretted her harshness. “I’m sorry,” she whispered so only he could hear, though she wasn't sure what exactly she was sorry for. For his apparent pain, she presumed. Or maybe the whole, horrid mess they’d both found themselves in.

His features softened slightly, and his dark eyes flitted up to meet hers. “Not your fault,” he assured her, with a shrug, understanding the underlying meaning in her voice.

“It doesn’t have to be my fault for me to be sorry,” she replied, sincerely, quoting something she had once heard Alison say.

It took the arrival of a steaming, fresh pot of coffee for the pair of them to break eye contact. Why they had gazed at each other for so long - she didn’t know. But for some reason, she didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, and this worried her. She didn’t want to grow fond of the her competition, because she was afraid of how his death would impact her. Inevitable and undeniable, she knew his death would come, if she was to save the little ones first, or even herself.

No sooner had she gulped down her last mug of coffee, Mary and Tom had shoved them in the lift, which carried them all the way down to the Training Room for the last time. They were among a throng of tributes, all with mixed emotions. The Careers, which included a very obnoxious-looking Edward, who proceeded to wink at Charlotte as she entered the room, were not in the slightest worried about what was to come. The rest of the tributes however, were clouded with anxiety clouding. Sidney had taken to drumming his fingers against his knees, and didn’t say a word. Despite the seating arrangement which meant they were all sat in order of their District number (this meant her and Sidney were to go last), the little ones all flocked around her, nervously chatting away to her about this-and-that.

“. . . and then the goat, the one mother had wrestled off of that poor old farmer - "

“. . . nobody’s ever told me they liked my freckles before - "

“. . . and I came third in the entire school, even beating nasty - "

Charlotte listened intently to what they all had to say, and knew exactly how to respond. She reacted at the right moment, and appropriately, depending on the type of story. She laughed, and she gasped, and she cooed, and she smiled. She didn’t mind at all. In fact, she rather enjoyed listening to them. It reminded her of being back home, constantly surrounded by a brood of siblings.

Soon, however, they were sharply reminded where they were, as tributes were called out to perform their chosen talent. One by one the children slipped away, shaking and trembling. She whispered to them words of comfort, and told them to lift their heads up high.

As the male from District 10 went in, it was just her, Sidney, Rose, and the male tribute from 11. Stocky and intimidating, he was sat on the edge of his seat, keeping to himself. He was perhaps Charlotte's age, maybe even Sidney’s. Confident too, as if he knew something they didn’t.

Rose leant into her, her head balanced in the crook of her neck. Charlotte rubbed her back, soothingly. Sidney had refrained from tapping, and instead began breathing shallow breaths, deep exhalations.

“My daddy was a hero, you know,” Rose told her, in a modest voice. “He never admitted it, but he helped save people back home. He worked hard so that I would never have to put my name in more times than I should. He’d hate to see me here today."

Charlotte was transported immediately back to District 12, back in her shared, with Alison curled up in her lap, talking about their family with such impressive strength. She too thought their father was a hero, though he had just been an ordinary coal-miner. To her though, he meant the world - and rightly-so. And Rose’s father clearly meant the world to her too.

“Did you ever know your father?” she asked suddenly, inquisitively.

“Yes, but not for long,” Charlotte answered, calmly. “He was killed in a mine explosion, so I never really got to know him as a person."

Rose lifted her head to say something, something most certainly profound and insightful, just as the boy from 11 was called in. He turned to glance at them as he left. “What is it about you that makes children so drawn to you?” he sighed. “Rose hasn’t spoken a single word to me on the entire trip, or to anyone really, and four days in and she’s already spilling her little heart to you. What a wonderful gift you have.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Unsure of how to reply, Charlotte instead just sat there and stared blankly at the back of her head.

“Such a tragic tale though,” the boy added, as he began to disappear down the corridor.

“Tragic?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes.

“You must know she won’t survive the Games, right? A little girl like her, she’ll be picked off as easily as you pick a dandelion."

Sidney had to hold Charlotte back, or else she would have done something she would have later regretted. She could hear the boy laughing, as went in for his evaluation. Sidney’s grip was still tight around her waist, and he was pressed considerably close to her. Shuffling slightly, she unclasped herself from him, but didn’t sit back down. Instead, she paced back and forth, seething.

Nobody said anything until at last Rose was called in. She planted a tentative and surprising kiss on her forehead, and waved as she slipped into the room. Charlotte waved back, and found a sob catching in the back of her throat.

“I don’t know you as well as I could,” Sidney began, in a tone that was naturally calming. “But the small parts of you that you allow the rest of us to see tell me that you’re determined and compassionate enough to look after that girl. Don’t listen to some pretentious, jealous tribute, okay? He doesn’t realise how stubborn and fierce you can be."

She knew that it shouldn’t, but somehow this made her feel so much better. She took a deep breath, and perched back on their bench, clenching and unclenching her fists. Sidney sat back down next to her, and without thinking too much about it, she let him slip his hand onto her knee. It remained there until his name was called. She heard his breath hitch, and slowly but surely he stood. She reached out to grab his hand as he began to walk, which caused him to snap his head round and look at her funny. Kind of as though she were a stranger, but someone close too.

“Good luck,” she murmured, and he gave her an uncharacteristically wide grin.

“You too, though I don’t suppose you’ll need it as much as me,” he replied, and then continued on. She watched his retreating figure, then slumped down in her seat. Any moment now they were going to call her name, and she would be scrutinised under the analytical eyes of the Gamemakers. No room for mistakes.

No sooner had Sidney left, it was her turn. “Charlotte Heywood. District 12."

Her fingers ran over the mockingjay pin on her collar, and she closed her eyes for a brief second before swinging open the doors. Remembering why she was there and who she was there for, she stepped in, ready for anything.

Immediately, she spotted a bow and some arrows on the table, itching to be used. A stone’s throw away from that were a couple of targets that she was confident she could hit blindfolded. Eyeing a cross on the floor that instinct told her she was to stand on, she approached it, and waited for the Gamemakers to ask her a question. However, they all were clustered around a table that held some kind of banquet for them. Coughing, hoping to gain their attention somehow, she then realised she needed to speak up.

“Charlotte Heywood, District 12,” she called up, in as bold a voice as she could muster. This plucked the attention of one of the men, who seemed far too young to be amongst his ageing company, with dark hair and a round face. His eyes narrowed on me, and she shuffled under the intensity of his gaze. Few others turned to look at her, though most seemed to be more infatuated with the hog roast that had just been brought out. Her stomach, which clearly hadn’t been satisfied enough at brunch, gave a little grumble, which she tried to conceal with another cough. The Gamemakers took this as a bid for their attention, so the Head Gamemaker, marked out by his different coloured jacket, waved his hand for her to continue.

This was when it all clicked. They’ve sat though twenty-three other demonstrations. All their enthusiasm and excitement would have slowly started to decline after the Career tributes performed, and thus the amount of drinks they consumed increased. They were far more lethargic and inebriated now than they would have been at the beginning, and this was when she realised why District 12 never had a high-scoring tribute. By this time, they’re usually well beyond caring.

Infuriated, this fuelled her on. Picking up the bow, she admired it’s craftsmanship, though the balance was slightly off, and it was a little more weighty than she was used too. The arrows were of a high quality too, and a little longer than her own. As easily as drawing breath she picked it up, and drew the string back. Drowning out the rest of the world, she focused solely on her heartbeat, and the target, more specifically, the bullseye. In a few short seconds, she had fired, and hit the centre. Proudly, she looked over towards the Gamemakers, and saw only the dark haired one watching. He clapped, though the others were so engrossed in their pork, that they hadn’t noticed she had even chosen the bow and arrow.

Hoping to actually gain some recognition, Charlotte drew another arrow, and aimed for one of the dummies, meant for the sword practice. Imagining the face of an old school nemesis, she relished in striking the heart. And then the head. Pleased, she turned to spy upon the Gamemakers, hopefully, but was once again let down. Out of anger, she pulled back her final arrow, and let it soar towards them. It flew straight through their little huddle, and speared the apple in the pig’s mouth, pinning it to the wall. Glasses were shattered, plates were dropped, gasps omitted. All of them were shocked, and they all snapped their heads to gaze upon the rebellious tribute from District 12 who dared to defy them.

Charlotte did not care for their horror. Bowing low, sweeping the ground in mock grandeur, her eyes shot them daggers. “Thank you for your consideration.” And then she left, without waiting for dismissal.

Returning back to her floor, her heart pounding, she found her team all waiting with nervous expectance. Sidney had already changed, and he appeared both downcast and subdued.

“How did it go?” Susan asked her, greeting her with open arms. Charlotte smiled and returned the gesture, hugging her tightly back.

“Sidney’s already told us their focus lacked,” Tom sighed, sipping from his whiskey glass. “As long as you gave it your best shot."

“Best shot!” Mary chuckled, slapping her knee. The insufferable prep team followed suit, giggling. “Get it?"

Charlotte nodded, cringing slightly. The amount of times she had heard that joke only made hearing it a further time far more excruciating. “Well, you could certainly say that,” she replied, collapsing into the sofa.

Leaning forward, as though suspecting what was on the tip of her tongue, his eyes narrowed, Tom’s mouth slipped open. “What did you do?"

“It’s not what I did, it’s what _they_ did,” Charlotte quickly began to explain, making it very clear her actions weren’t unprovoked. “They were rude, and disrespectful. They had no idea that I’d even entered the room, let alone took four shots with the bow and arrow. Don’t worry, nobody was hurt. _Unfortunately._ "

This time, she truly believed Tom had given up on her. Mary looked appalled, and went to say something, but instead shut her mouth and hurried off, no doubt going to investigate further.

Charlotte caught Sidney’s eye, and the mischievous glint she spotted told her that he agreed with her.

An hour later, Mary returned, flustered and red-faced. She had been talking to herself the whole lift ride up, and when she saw her tributes, she waved her finger dangerously close to Charlotte’s nose.

“I have just had the most embarrassing conversation with the Head Gamemaker himself, and he told me all about your little stunt with the arrow, young lady!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“What did she do?” Tom asked, appearing by her side quicker than you can say _disapproving mentor._

“Do you want to tell them?” Mary replied, in a scolding tone.

Charlotte sighed. “I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers,” she answered, simply, stoically.

Her prep team in the corner gasped, and Mary had even resorted to fanning herself.

“You _what?_ ” Tom spat, sharply.

“I shot an arrow at them - well not exactly at _them_ in particular, more at the pig on their table. I hit the apple in it’s mouth, just to scare them,” she divulged. “And I’m not sorry about it. I wish I’d have hit one of them. They are greedy, and derogatory, and were more interested in their stupid feast then the kids they’re sending to their deaths tomorrow."

The silence in the air unnerved her, and she wasn’t sure who was the most disappointed. Tom raised a hand, and out of instinct, she flinched, closing her eyes. She opened them again a few seconds later, to see him running a hand through his hair, watching her closely. The others were too. Now, their rage muted, she received gazes of pity from them. Hating it, she frowned at them.

“Did you think I was going to hit you?” Tom asked, carefully.

Shrugging, unable to give a steady answer, Charlotte returned back to her seat on the sofa. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you Mary. I didn’t realise how this would effect us all."

Seemingly lightening her spirits with this apology, she patted her shoulder, softly. “It’s okay, you can’t help what you do in the heat of a moment."

“Don’t expect life to be a picnic when you get in there, Charlotte,” Tom advised. “You’ll pay for your actions today. They won’t take their anger out on you just yet - they’ll wait until you’re in there."

Just about ready to retire to her room, something Sidney said brought a smile to her face, and restrained her. He leaned in close, and muttered under his breath; “They did deserve it. You only did what the rest of us were thinking. If only I could have thrown those weights high enough."

She chuckled, glad to have Sidney on her side.


	9. nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the time for interviews has come.

It was with a heavy heart that the District 12 team watched the announcement of each of their scores on TV.

Expecting, for obvious reasons, that she would have the worst score, Charlotte partially hid behind a cushion, unable to watch. She could still hear, regretfully, the other scores. As per usual, the Careers received quite high scores. Edward received a nine, and that was the most impressive. The others all received eight. Then, they started to plummet, and the announcer almost sounded bored, until he reached little Rose’s score. Her ears perked up when the number seven was read out, and she had to peek out from behind her makeshift wall to ensure that she had heard correctly. Surprisingly, she had. There was Rose, her innocent, cherubic face staring back at her, seven printed across the screen. She couldn’t imagine what she had done to show the judges, but she was proud all the same.

They all leant forward as Sidney’s name was called, and the number nine was read. Their team cheered for him and clapped him on the back. Charlotte flashed him a smile, then braced herself for my own. Everybody ceased their celebrations, as her name was spoken, collectively holding their breath. Closing her eyes, she couldn’t bare to watch the disappointment spread across everybody’s faces, when the number eleven echoed through the speakers. _Eleven?_

The announcer was clearly as shocked as she was, and impressed too. She had received the highest score, for shooting an arrow through an apple. One measly arrow, one measly apple, one measly shot, was worth a staggering eleven? Out of twelve? She couldn’t believe her ears.

Everybody was now on their feet. Tom, who hadn’t been expecting such a momentous number, turned to her with what could only have been awe in his eyes. Mary was the first to wrap Charlotte in her arms, as though the previous conversation about her disappointing them hadn’t ever been uttered. Then Susan, who planted a kiss on her cheek. “Good for you, my dear,” she told her, grinning. Then, her prep team encircled her, assuring her that they had nothing but faith in her abilities.

Finally, she turned to Sidney, and awkwardly went in for a hug. She was so small compared to him, and he could have crushed her in his arms, if hadn’t had been so delicate in his touch. “Eleven, that’s good going,” he said, without a trace of envy in his voice.

“I think they’re trying to taunt me,” she confessed, in a quiet voice. “So that I’ll be targeted first in the Games. Nine however, that’s a real score. You earned that."

As though he wasn’t used to hearing compliments, his cheeks flushed a slight shade of crimson. He shrugged it off, and allowed his stylist to whisk him off, to prepare him for tonight’s interview. She let Susan and the others do the same.

“We’ll see you in two hours, yes?” called Mary, though nobody answered.

“I’m going to need longer than two hours, if I’m to face a whole audience,” Charlotte admitted, to Susan’s ears alone. She smirked.

“Trust me, my dear, when I say that I would only need five minutes with you and you’ll still be the prettiest face on that stage."

Charlotte couldn't help but blush. “I bet you say that to all the tributes,” she joked. Then, she spotted the dress. A magnificent, scarlet dress, floor-length, with long, billowing sleeves. The embroidery that embellished the soft fabric was exquisite, and though the neckline plunged rather far, she didn’t mind. It wasn’t a little girl dress, and she wasn’t a little girl. She couldn’t have been more eager to try it on, and it fit wonderfully. It somehow made her look taller too, and working wonders. Susan instructed her hair be left alone to flow long, and she added some kind of spray to make it wavy and voluminous. She loved it. Her make-up followed a strict rule; dusky. Her eyes were a smoky, dark brown, which made her eyes a richer brown, and a vibrant red eyeliner was added. Her lips were a deep red, and she was showered in the scent of roses. Matching red heels adorned her feet, and though she still had difficulty walking in them, she adored how tall she felt.

Smiling widely, she resisted the urge to touch her face, amazed that anybody could get her to look so . . . sultry, for lack of a better word. She picked up the hem of her dress, and was about to whirl around and admire the back of the beautiful design, when Susan touched her elbow and shook her head, tapping her nose. “I’d save the twirling for later - trust me.” She did as she was told, for once. “You’re a fan favourite, to use such a tacky term. The people here love you.”

“They don’t know me.” Charlotte resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“They know you volunteered for your little sister, which makes you brave. They know you’re fiery. They know you’re beautiful. That’s enough for them to adore you.”

“But I don’t think I’m any of those things,” she sighed. She was making herself anxious, frustration building up inside of her. "I can’t _make_ myself brave, fiery and beautiful for the interview.”

“No, but I can,” Tom interrupted, hovering in the doorway. How long had he been there? “Because the Capitol love you, you’re automatically a contender, which makes you a target for the other tributes, especially with your miraculous eleven. Play it dumb, Charlotte. It’s your only shot at keeping the audience’s attention and giving the illusion that you’re just some naive miner’s daughter."

They left the room on schedule, and met Mary and Sidney right on time, by the lift. Their eyes fell upon Charlotte, and seemed fixated. Mouths agape, they were frozen still. Nervously, she turned to Susan, wondering if this was the right kind of reaction. “What is it? What’s wrong?"

“When are you going to realise you look beautiful, Charlotte?” she sighed, rubbing her back comfortingly in small circles. Shyly, Charlotte dropped her face, smiling.

“My dear, you’re a vision!” Mary exclaimed, reassuringly. Coming from her, with her abhorrent taste in neon colours and polyester, Charlotte couldn’t be certain if it was a compliment or not. However, she smiled, and thanked her all the same. Sidney, as predicted, remained silent.

Only Tom and Mary travelled with them in the lift, as their styling teams found their seats in the audience. As they reached the final floor, they were whisked outside into a car, where flashes of cameras left her blinded for a few seconds. Sidney sat across from her, and she found that she couldn’t help but admire him in his suit. It appeared as though they had been dressed to match, with his tie the same shade of red as her dress. He did look rather handsome. Her eyes travelled up to meet his, where she saw that he was staring back. Bashfully, they both looked away.

“Now, in that dress, I think that you could get away with not saying anything after all,” Tom teased, as they pulled up to the City Circle. Already pools of people stood in a que outside, itching to get in and take a peek at this years tributes. “Remember, just smile, maybe toss your hair, and laugh when appropriate. No, not laugh - giggle."

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m going to answer his questions, and I’m going to be myself."

Dismissing her protests, Tom climbed out of the car, and held the door open of for them. “I’ve given up trying to control you,” he sighed. “Just know if you make an embarrassment of yourself out there, there’s nothing I can do to fix your image in the Games. It’s all on you.”

“My image is the least of my worries,” she retorted, with a huff.

“Then you’re a fool,” Tom pointed out, as he made his way inside the building without waiting for them.

Sidney was out of the car first, and offered a hand to Charlotte, when she struggled to take a step in her heels. Reluctantly, she took it, and tried her best to ignore the shivers that were sent up her spine. Suddenly, she was so very aware of the large amount of cleavage on show.

They find their way inside among the other tributes, Mary hissing at them to smile, and for Charlotte to hold up dress up to refrain from tripping on the hem. They didn’t smile, and instead walked in with their heads held high. Charlotte tried not to let the stares of the other tributes and their teams put her off, though there was something about the primeval and hungry look in Edward's eyes that set her on edge.

Sidney too. “He’s looking at you as though you’re a piece of meat,” he hissed. “It’s disgusting."

“He’s probably just trying to figure out why a girl got a higher score than him,” she suggested, though knew it was deeper than that.

Tom and Mary gave them a quick rundown of what kinds of questions Crowe, who has been the show’s host for what seemed like forever now, would ask them, and how they needed to respond. In Charlotte's case, smile seductively, or giggle. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

Suddenly, she spotted the little ones, and kneeled down to the floor as they ran at me. She enveloped them all, admiring their adorable costumes. Gone were the ridiculous farmer get-ups and tree-all-in-ones. Now, they were all smartly presented in dashing suits and flowing dresses. She fixed Rose’s hair bow with a proud smile. “You all look so grown-up!” she exclaimed. “I love your dresses."

The little girls did tiny spins for her, giggling. One of them tugged at her dress, and their eyes wide. “You’re so pretty,” they cooed, and she thanked them, assuring them that they were much more dazzling.

Sidney appeared behind her - had he could have been stood there the whole time? - and greeted all the little ones. He kissed the hands of the girls, and shook the hands of the boys. Though slightly reserved, they all seemed to be grateful for his compliments, and introduced themselves. Charlotte's heart swelled as she watched the exchange between them.

Suddenly, they were all called to their stations, and instructed to queue up by the stage, in district order. This time, the boys were to go last, meaning Sidney was to be the last one interviewed. She stood in front of him, waiting and watching with him. Every now and then she caught a whiff of limes and bergamot, and found it rather soothing.

The girl from District 1 was up first. Her angle appeared to be seductive, though she did manage to come across slightly threatening. Crowe played along however, and partook in the harmless flirting. Theo swivels round to catch her eye, as she mimed vomiting. He chuckled.

The girl Sidney had wanted to team up with sauntered onto the stage in a yellow tulle dress. She laughed at everything Crowe said, and touched his hands quite a lot. Charlotte let out an audible sigh. All of these girls seemed to be playing it at one angle - flirtatious. Despite all of Tom’s advice, she was even more determined to ignore it, and just be herself. No pretences.

After Edward's cocky interrogation, she started to lose interest, unless of course it was one of the little ones. Say what you will about the Games, but at least Crowe knew how to talk to them, and he could even coax a smile out of some of them.

All of a sudden, she felt Sidney gently nudging her forward, and she realised that her name had been called out. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out onto the stage, and made her way over to Crowe. His reaction was very similar to that of her team’s, and he kissed her hand in greeting, then still clutching it, held her out to the audience for them to admire her too. Feeling completely self-concisous, she was unsure of what to do. Then, she met Susan’s eyes in the audience, and she span her finger around, winking. As if gaining her confidence all at once, she offered to do show off her dress to the crowd, and so Crowe let her go, and clasped his hands together as she twirled.

Suddenly, an amber flickering caught her attention. She glanced down to see flames beginning to lick their way up her dress. Knowing Susan as well as she did, she trusted that this was one of her many intentions, and so continued to spin, until she had the audience gasping and leaning forward in their seats.

In fear of falling over, she ceased spinning and laughed instead. Crowe laughed with her, and so did the audience, as they all took their seats.

“That’s quite an entrance, Charlotte!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Though, we all know how spectacular you are with your entrances. Who could forget the opening ceremony! That dress was stunning, as this one is too."

She smiled gratefully at him. “They’re beautiful aren’t they? My stylist, Susan, is extremely talented,” she explained, and then with a roguish grin she added: “Though I do get the impression she’s not that fond of me. She does keep setting me on fire!"

As the crowd erupted into a fit of laughter, she spotted Susan chuckling too, shaking her finger teasingly at Charlotte. She saw the cameras going in for a close up of her.

“Oh, isn’t she so cheeky?” Crowe joked to the audience. His gleaming teeth reflected the bright lights from the ceiling, and gave the impression that his mouth was made completely from diamonds. With the amount of money he surely made, he could certainly afford it. “Now, besides the fashion, what else do you enjoy about the Capitol?"

Charlotte paused, as though thinking hard, despite the fact that she loathed every single thing about this place. Well, almost everything. “The dumplings and duck sauce,” she confessed, sincerely. This earned her another laugh from the audience, and Crowe too. A real one.

“Oh yes, that’s a particular favourite of mine,” he agreed. “Now, that show-stopping training score of yours. _El-ev-en_. Can you give a sneaky hint what happened?"

Thinking back to her demonstration, she bit her lip, and shook her head. “I don’t think I can say,” she admitted. “Though it was certainly a first."

The Gamemakers up on the balcony were, oddly enough, all chuckling heartily, as though she hadn’t fired an arrow at them. “Don’t tell them anything!” the dark-haired one called down, laughing, as he mimed zipping his lips shut.

“See, my lips are sealed,” she replied. Crowe released a hefty sigh, knowing he wouldn’t get anything out of her. Flipping to the back of his cards, his tone suddenly became quite grave, and the knot in her chest tightened.

“Now, I’d like to talk about your sister, if you don’t mind?” Crowe asked her, in an inquisitive voice. “What’s her name?"

“Alison,” Charlotte answered, in such a small voice that she feared nobody had heard her, and that she would have to repeat herself. She didn’t think she was capable enough to say the name out loud again.

“We were all very moved, I think, when you volunteered for her at the reaping,” Crowe pressed, in a soft voice, sensing her trepidation. “Did she come and say goodbye to you?"

Reluctant at first to answer any questions, wanting to keep her memories all to herself, she pushed aside her pride and took this as a chance to communicate with her. No doubt they’ll be forced to watch this back home.

“Yes,” she answered truthfully. “She did. As did my other brothers and sisters.” _And Stringer._ Though she didn't want to share that with the whole of the country.

“What did you say to her?” he pried. “What did you say to all your siblings, in the end?”

She could practically hear Tom breathing down her neck, hissing words in her ear. _They want a juicy interview. You'd better open up, or face the consequences in the arena._

Looking down at her lap, she struggled to find the right words. Finally, she said, “I promised her I would win. I promised her that I wouldn’t die in there.” She imagined that she was talking with Stringer back home, and not a room full of botox-injected, plastic Capitol civilians, who tomorrow would be betting on how far she will make it. She was especially cautious to leave out the part that involved kissing him. Her eyes flitted towards the cameras, knowing that he would be watching too. Her lips burned at the memory. She tentatively raised a hand and brushed her fingertips against her lips, hoping to communicate with him. Hoping to show that she will remember. 

Crowe reached out and stroked her hand. His touch was ice cold, and his skin felt leathery. “And what did she say back?"

“I was trying to say farewell, and she told me _‘this isn’t goodbye’_ ,” her words had failed her, though she refused to let the tears fall. “She said; _‘this isn’t goodbye, we’ll see each other again. I know it’_. And I believe her. I have to believe her."

Finally looking up, she saw that there was not a dry eye in the audience. Crowe himself dabbed at his eyes, and stood up, holding out a hand for her. She got to her feet too, clutching onto her dress.

“Ladies and gentleman, please give an enthusiastic round of applause for Charlotte Heywood, District 12, the girl on fire!"

The crowd all stood up, cheering heartily. She gave as believable a smile as she could muster, and returned backstage, where Mary and ToMe were waiting with expressions of satisfaction. Mary too had succumbed to the tearful story she had shared, whilst Tom looked at her and grinned, pleased with the show she had given. Angry at him for getting in her head, she pushed past, roughly, and collapsed into a seat furthest away from them all. She could still see the television screens from where she was, and she watched as Sidney was applauded and welcomed by the Capitol audience. He looked rather dashing, she had to admit, and the crowd seemed to think the same thing.

The pair of them participated in an amusing skit about the difference of the showers here than the ones from back home, which included one another sniffing each other. Sidney was so sure he smelt of limes. Charlotte cast her mind back to earlier, how she had been wrapped in that very same scent, and she smiled. Then, Stringer’s face flashed in front of her eyes. She fell sombre again, feeling unexplainably guilty, though she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen.

Just as Charlotte’s had gone, his interview began light-hearted and spirited, then slowly turned serious.

“Now, Sidney, tell us, are there any girls back home that have your heart?” Crowe inquired, nudging him playfully in the ribs. He gave an unconvincing shake of his head. Crowe picked up on this like a vulture, and scoffed. “Come on, a handsome lad like you! There must be one girl, one _special_ girl!"

Sighing, Sidney caved. “There is this one girl. I’ve liked her for as long as I can remember, you could even say I love her.” Charlotte ignored the nauseous feeling in her stomach. It must still be the butterflies from being out on stage. It _had_ to be the butterflies.

“What’s she like?” Crowe asked, sensing a real crowd-pleasing anecdote coming his way. “Details, Sid, details!"

“She’s so funny, like sidesplittingly. Extremely brave. She’s smart and determined. Real independent kind of person. Beautiful too, definitely the prettiest girl at school,” he began, with a big, dopey grin on his face - the kind she hadn’t thought him capable of. The audience were lapping it up, hanging on to his every word. “The only problem is that a lot of boys like her, and I don’t think she ever noticed me until the reaping."

Gritting her teeth, she tried her best not to seem jealous, feeling Tom’s intense gaze burn a hole into the side of her head. _He must be talking about the girl in his year at school with the golden hair_ , she thought bitterly.

“Okay, so here’s what you do,” Crowe began, encouragingly. “You win, and you go home. There is no way she can turn you down, eh?” The audience cheered in agreement.

Glancing down at his hands, Sidney didn’t look so sure. “Winning won’t help me."

Curiously, Crowe leant forward, puzzled. “Why not?"

Blushing furiously, he looked into the camera, and his eyes seemed to somehow meet Charlotte's. “Because . . . because she came here with me,” he stammered.


	10. ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of the interviews

Oblivious to the handful of backstage cameras that had zoomed in on her face, magnifying her stupefied expression across every television screen across the country, Charlotte stared speechless at the Sidney on the screen, mouth gaped and eyes wide. She didn’t know how long she remained like that, but it felt like a while. When finally the cameras switched off, and people began to spill out this way and that, she found that her hands were trembling.

Why would he say that? Why would he, on a live broadcast of all places, confess his supposed love for her? Not only had he embarrassed himself, but he had humiliated her. But wait; what if that was the intention? Sidney was muscular, and he was clearly strong. He didn’t need the top score in training for people to know that he had a real shot at winning. Charlotte, on the other hand, _needed_ that eleven. Otherwise she was just another girl, small and skinny from the lack of food, in a pretty dress. People here in the Capitol, they didn’t see a potential victor, they just saw legs, and breasts, and polished nails. Her eyes weren’t threatening, they were flattering. Her smile wasn’t the poised grin of a champion, it was the forced beam of a girl who had lost everything.

But her eleven, that had knocked everything out of the water. Regardless of her gender, regardless of her size, she had showed that she had potential, _more_ potential than the other tributes. This threatened Sidney. Oh, it all made sense now. For a moment out there, she was seen as the girl who overcame all obstacles to beat out the competition and earn an eleven. She was strong, and tough, and determined, but she was also real, somebody who had volunteered for her little sister - somebody the audience could root for. After his revelation, a new light was shone on her. The eyelash-fluttering, air kiss-blowing tease from District 12. Never mind her ability to fight, she could make boys fall for her at the drop of the hat, if he was to believed. And this was what they would focus on. This illusion Sidney had built around her, to knock aside her achievements.

 _That doesn’t explain the look on his face though when he talked about you,_ a tiny voice echoed in her mind. _Or the pained expression he gives you every time your eyes meet._

She felt an arm link through her own and tried to resist, when she saw that it was Susan, who began to calmly lead her towards the lift. People were pooling around them, many thrusting recording equipment into her face, asking her what her take on the whole situation was. She couldn’t answer because words escaped had her. Shoving people aside, Susan and Charlotte managed to haul themselves into a cart, which they shared with another tribute and his coach. Catching his reflection in the glass, she saw that it was the boy from District 5. He was awkwardly fiddling with something in his hands, unable to look at her. When the lift reached his floor, in a bashful voice, he muttered, “bad luck,” as though he had been working up the courage to say it the entire ride down.

It was his words that brought her back to reality. To a world where, in under 24 hours, they would all be opponents in a deadly fight to the death. Whether Sidney had feelings for her or not had no impact on her ability to kill him, when the time came.

_Or did it?_

They arrived at their floor, and somehow Tom, Mary and Sidney had made it back before them. Her eyes met Sidney’s, and a huge surge of anger overwhelmed her. As though he could read her mind, he went to open his mouth, to explain his actions, but she leapt on him before he had the chance. Her palms connected with his chest, as she pushed him against the wall, with as much force as she could muster. He struggled under her weight, but she had pinned her arm under his chin, keeping his head level with hers.

“What the hell was that!” she demanded. Sidney was struggling for breath, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to know what she was capable of. She wanted him to know how angry she could be. That the fact she was all made-up in a dress and a layer of foundation had no effect on her talent for hunting. “First you don’t talk to me, then you make out like you’re in love with me? You made me look weak! In their eyes I’m not strong, _I’m weak!_ I’m just some silly little girl to them now!"

“I’m . . . sorry,” he rasped. How odd that he didn’t try and fight back? He could have knocked her to the floor with just one punch, but he held himself back. Why?

“I don’t give a damn if you’re sorry!” she exclaimed. “It’s too late now! All of Sanditon has seen it!”

Tom, who was surprisingly strong, managed to pull her off of Sidney. Mary was frantically fretting over a broken vase in the corner, whilst Susan was trying to soothe her tribute. She didn’t care what they had to say, only what Sidney had to say for himself.

“You had no right!” she shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. “No right to say those things about me on national television! People back home are watching that!"

“Charlotte, calm yourself down, for Christ’s sake!” Tom ordered, pulling her away from Sidney, as though he was worried she could do some serious damage to him. “This isn’t his fault, alright? In fact, he did you a favour!"

With his words, she snapped her attention to him, and narrowed her eyes. “Oh my God, this was your idea, wasn’t it? Turning me into some kind of . . . _giggling schoolgirl_ for the whole of Sanditon to laugh at! That’s why you were so keen on me going out there and making a fool of myself, so that it would reinforce this image of me you two had concocted!” She shook herself free of Tom’s grip, looking at him with pure disdain. “I knew you favoured Sidney, but this . . . "

“It was my idea, okay?” Sidney said, rubbing his neck. “Tom just helped me with it, alright, he’s not to blame."

Charlotte scoffed, kicking off her blasted heels. She felt ridiculous, still dressed up. This was the Capitol’s image of her. It in no way reflected who she truly was. “This is unbelievable,” she muttered, running her hands through her hair. “I wondered when you two would team up against me, though I thought you had enough dignity to at least wait until we actually entered the Games first."

“You truly are a silly little girl, you know that?” Tom hissed, in disgust. “You really think this boy did it to spite you? To get an edge up on the competition? Don’t be so foolish. He’s helped you out more than you could possibly understand."

“He’s made me look weak!” she repeated, in disbelief.

“He’s made you look desirable!” Tom spat, bitterly. “Which in your case, sweetheart, can’t hurt. That dress only gives the illusion that you're seductive, that you’re passionate. You were about as romantic as a lump of coal until that boy said he wants you. Now they all do. Everybody is talking about you. Everybody wants to know more about the star-crossed lovers from District 12."

“We are _not_ star-crossed lovers - " she began, still raging, until Tom placed his hands forcefully on her shoulders and pressed her up against the wall, the freezing stone causing goosebumps to form across her neck and arms.

“You’re whatever I say you are, you understand? This is the only way I’m going to be able to bring one of you home,” he told her, forcefully. “To them, this is just a show. A sob story of a poor, starving girl volunteering for her little sister will only get you so far. After your interview, all I could say was that you had a pretty smile. Now, I can say you’re a heartbreaker. Oh, how the boys at home fall at your feet. Oh, how the boys at home swoon as you pass them in the hallway. Oh, how the boys at home fight over you when you’re not looking. Which girl, do you think, will get the most sponsors?"

The smell of whiskey on his breath made her gag, and her head spin. She tore herself away from him, desperately craving fresh air.

“You know he’s right,” Mary sighed, gently.

Leaning against the arm of the chair, Charlotte took deep breaths, feeling both humiliated and used. “Someone should have warned me. I looked so pathetic on screen."

“No, no, you’re reaction was perfect,” Susan informed her, rubbing her back soothingly. “If you had been told, your reaction would have been prepared, and nobody would have believed it was real."

Gruffly, Sidney crossed the room to grab himself a glass of water, which he downed in a single gulp. “She’s just worried what her boyfriend will think,” he muttered, begrudgingly.

Her cheeks flush red at the thought of Stringer. “Stringer isn’t my boyfriend,” she threw back, hastily.

“But you knew who I was referring to though, and I didn’t mention a name,” he retorted, like a petulant child on the playground.

She simply blushed again, not sure of how to answer. Out of habit, she made her way towards her room, unable to cope with everybody’s stares. However, Mary stopped her, holding out a plate of dumplings and duck sauce for her to take. “You need to eat something, dear, if you’re not going to stay and join us for dinner."

Her tone was sympathetic, and clearly she knew it was better to let Charlotte go, then to argue with her. Glancing at the plate, she rolled her eyes. Somebody down in the kitchens must have seen her interview and heard she liked the dumplings. She considered taking the plate for a moment, then pushed it aside and walked off down the corridor. She twisted the doorknob to her room and entered, slumping down into a chair adjacent from the mirror. She stared at her reflection. The girl she saw looking back wasn’t a girl she was familiar with. It wasn't her face. It wasn't her lips. It wasn’t her cheeks. It wasn’t her hair. She didn't recognise herself. She didn’t see the same girl from that morning before the reaping.

That’s when she realised; this was who Alison and her siblings would have seen on television. This is who Stringer would have seen. That girl spinning round in a pretty dress, giggling, talking about food people back home have never even heard of. In a moment of rage, and anger, she jumped out of her chair, knocking it to the floor, and smashed the mirror. A scream escaped her mouth, as glass shards rained down on the dressing table. Sweeping her arms to the side, she proceeded to push the perfume bottles, assortment of lipsticks, shimmering powders, and the odd earring onto the carpet, spilling the contents of each vial, box and container onto the teal fabric.

She almost didn’t notice Sidney stood in her doorway, his forehead creased with concern.

“Do you recognise me?” she asked him, in a small voice. She couldn't look him in the eyes, so instead she looked out of her window and down at the parties raging in the streets.

“If you’re asking me that, my guess is that you don’t recognise yourself,” he answered, rather analytically.

She sighed, shaking her head. As she brought her hand up to wipe away a stray tear that was threatening to roll down her cheek, she could see that her hands were speckled with crimson. Some tiny, but nasty, pieces of jagged glass were protruding out of her palm, stinging her flesh. Wincing, she tried to conceal them from Sidney, but he had already spotted the blood. Rushing over, he insinctively tore off two pieces of cloth from the veil that surrounded her bed. With surprisingly delicate hands he removed the pieces of shard, and carefully wrapped her hands in the light fabric. Adjusting her fingers to the new tension, she quietly thanked him.

She glanced up at him, and her breath hitched in her throat when she realised how close he was to her. His eyes were scanning her face, and she found that she suddenly felt very self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“They’ve painted your face,” he finally said. “Your lips are a darker shade of red than normal, and your nose seems thinner. Your hair is down - I’ve never seen it down before. Your skin seems lighter, paler even, and you smell of roses. You usually smell like the woods."

He was very detailed, and it made her wonder what he saw before all the make-up had been applied.

“So you don’t recognise me then?” she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Your eyes - they’re the exact same. Chestnut brown, with amber flecks,” he added. “In them I see the girl who volunteered. It’s them that keep you, you. The rest of this, it’s just warpaint. Something the others have decided will make you stand out from the crowd."

 _Warpaint._ Yes, she liked that idea. Rather uncomfortable warpaint, but warpaint all the same. Then, her mind wandered back to what Sidney said about her eyes, and it really made her think about how much attention he had really been paying to her.

“I’m sorry about this whole _‘secret crush’_ thing we sprung on you,” he began, until she stopped him. In the doorway were the heads of her insufferable prep team, peering out from behind the frame. No doubt they had come to help remove the layers of make-up before she could stain the expensive Capitol sheets. They saw her looking, and started to whisper things to one other, though rather loudly. They then scampered away, about as light-footed as a stampede of wildebeest.

Charlotte groaned and walk over towards the door. She contemplated shutting it, but then registered the fact that they could still be susceptible to prying ears. She gestured for Sidney to follow her, as they made their way out onto the rooftop, where she knew for a fact the wind would drown out their discussion.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she let out a sigh she didn’t know she had been holding in, feeling free to say what she thought and felt at last.

“They don’t know that you and Tom planned the _’secret crush’_ thing,” she said, the fact dawning on her.

“Oh, I can tell them at breakfast tomorrow if you’d like - " he started, but she shook her head.

“No it’s better they don’t know,” she explained. “Trust me, those three don’t know the meaning of the word _‘privacy’_ \- half of the Capitol will know before lunchtime tomorrow."

Sidney chuckled. It was a nice sound, comforting. She couldn’t help but smile back. She walked over to the ledge, and sat down, feeling the cool wind against her skin. Closing her eyes, she sat there, hold her head up to the sky. Opening her eyes, she saw Sidney watching her intently. She held his gaze, taking in his appearance. He was still dressed in his interview outfit, as she was in hers, with the exception of his jacket and tie. His white shirt had been unbuttoned slightly, and was flapping open in the wind, revealing the top of his bare torso. Pursing her lips together, she looked away quickly.

Sidney came over to join her, though was less enthusiastic about perching himself on the ledge of the extremely tall building. “Of course you’re not afraid of heights,” he muttered, before deciding to lean against the ledge, rather than sit on it.

They remained like that for a while, and it was oddly peaceful. Though the air was filled with the sound of the wind, which carried up the noise of the festivities below them, the breeze was refreshing, and she enjoyed it. It wasn't the quiet of home, but it was quieter than being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of their team. She didn’t feel quite so suffocated out here.

“I can’t stand it,” Sidney suddenly said, through gritted teeth. With furrowed eyebrows, she looked over at him, and saw his gaze fixated on the streets below, and the carnival they seemed to be having. “They’re down there, partying and eating and drinking - something they’ve been doing the whole time we’ve been here - celebrating the arrival of another Games."

She didn’t realise that the people of the Capitol had been partying all week. Though, she had been shutting herself away the whole time, retiring to bed early to escape everything. Sidney, who was more tuned into things, probably noticed the first night.

“It makes you wonder, if they know what the situation is like in the districts,” he sighed. “The fact they stuff their faces at every chance they get, whilst people back home are starving."

“Have you ever starved?” she blurted out, without thinking. Sidney, who she could tell was embarrassed by his answer, shook his head. “I have. Before I came here, I’d never had three meals a day. It’s breakfast or lunch, lunch or dinner. Sometimes it’s neither. More often than not, I give up my meals for one of the younger ones, who need the protein, or calcium more than me. If I didn’t go hunting, I wouldn’t have anything to give my family. Watching them, down there, is like watching you and your family shop in the bakery, or even the patisserie."

She watched Sidney’s face contort with one of guilt and discomfort, and though she didn't feel remorseful, she did apologise. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s the truth,” she told him, in a quiet voice. “You have a choice between those shops in town. The only place I can afford to visit is the Hob."

“I’m ashamed of who I am, of who my brother is,” Sidney finally said, sincerely. His admission took her by surprise. His expression was strained, as though it took him great pain to say these words out loud - it probably did. “The fact that I can go to bed full, when I know you, and others from the Seam, are still out there, scavenging for food, it mortifies me. I look down at my stocky build, and I hate it. You’re so skinny, and I’ve seen the rest of your family. Their ribs are visible through their clothes. It’s despicable you get so used to being hungry, and I can barely go a few hours without sticking my hand into the biscuit jar out of habit. It’s wrong, and I hate that my brother has done nothing to help you. To help _anyone_ with his wealth."

He had done it again. Sidney Parker had done it again. He had said something so staggeringly profound, she could only sit speechless, dumbfounded.

“I don’t want to have to kill you in there,” she admitted, her mouth moving faster than her brain. She seemed to be almost pleading with him. What was it going to cost her to say that? “And I don’t think I could cope if I have to watch you die either."

Just as Sidney was about to say something back, Mary appeared on the rooftop with them, her face red. “You’ll both catch a cold up here! You need to get some rest for tomorrow, for heaven’s sake!"

They both soundlessly made their way back inside, not saying another word. As she turned her doorknob, she glanced behind her and watched Sidney disappear inside his room. Sighing, she did the same thing. Thinking back to his words on the rooftop, about how ashamed he was of who he was, compared to her misfortune, and just the fact he noticed, made her heart beat ten times faster.


	11. eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the games begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all once again for being patient, you wouldn't believe how busy i've been! now it's the school holidays and the kids have gone home, i can spend all my time writing again! keep an eye out for other updates on my other stories too...
> 
> enjoy!

Waking up was usually hard. However, Charlotte found that climbing out of bed the morning she was being sent to her certain death was especially challenging.

She didn’t think she'd had more than two hours sleep, and the little sleep she did have was interrupted rather frequently by images of the past Games flashing through her mind. It was around seven-thirty that she heard Mary knocking on her door, calling through the wooden panels for her to _‘rise and shine’_. Only somebody from the Capitol could have such positive things to say on a day like this. Rolling her eyes, she proceeded to jump in the shower, trying to savour every droplet of steaming hot water.

The atmosphere at the breakfast table was rather subdued and dejected. Nobody could make eye contact with anyone, and the breakfast consisted of more alcohol than normal - though it seemed that only Tom was drinking. Mary was the first to speak, and gave her fellow mentor a drilling about how he would regret drinking straight gin quite so early on in the morning.

“You’ll get an awful headache tomorrow if you - "

“My brother could be dead tomorrow,” he blurted out, shrugging. He then picked up the glass and downed the rest of the contents, as if to prove a point. “So I’ll have another.”

Charlotte cast a glance at Sidney, who had blanched at this comment, though said nothing. She itched to comfort him, but thought against it.

After breakfast, the tributes were allowed a few minutes to say some parting words with their team, before they were expected downstairs. Her prep team, all with tears in their eyes, hugged her, and looked between Sidney and her with despondency. Clearly, they made a believable _‘star-crossed lovers’_ duo, and she saw this as a blessing. If those three had fallen for the ruse, and they knew her, how many of the sponsors had too?

Susan hugged her the longest and the tightest, and the mere thought of not getting to see her again brought a tear to Charlotte's eye. “Dry your eyes, dear, I’m coming with you,” she smiled, linking their arms. Charlotte grinned, preferring her to accompany her over Tom any day. Sidney and his stylist joined them the lift ride down too.

She saw that Sidney had been dressed in the same outfit as her, which consisted of a thin black t-shirt, a lightweight black jacket with an orange stripe, brown, tight-fitting trousers, and brown leather boots that stopped at her shin.

“Where do you think they’re sending us?” Sidney muttered in her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Tugging at her outfit, she took a guess. “Judging by the clothes they’ve given us, a forest or something like that. They're fit for running, and to keep us warm.” Spotting the pleased look on Susan’s face, she knew she had guessed correctly. Being an expert on fashion, she would know exactly what each material was purposed for.

She was lead into a room with Susan, and Sidney was taken into the next one along. If she had known this would have been the last time she would see him, properly, for a few days, she would have said something. Wished him luck even. A voice announced a five minute waiting time through the speakers, and she felt her stomach knot up. It was a horrible sensation, kind of like falling and being sick, and getting punched simultaneously. Her breathing had become ragged, so Susan sat her down on the bench, and held her hands, comfortingly.

“Listen, dear, you’ll be okay, I promise,” she assured her. “You’ve got more guts in your little finger than anybody I’ve ever met."

“I don’t think that where my guts are supposed to be,” she replied, more out nerves than an attempt to be funny. Susan laughed regardless, and kissed her forehead. Then, she reached into her pocket and brought out the gold mockingjay pin, which she pinned to the underside of Charlotte’s jacket. She explains how she took it from the discarded training outfit.

“You’re each allowed a token to bring into the Games with you. I’ve already cleared it with the authorities, and though they suspected it could be used as a weapon, they let you have it anyway."

She smiled, gratefully. “Thank you. For everything."

“I’ve done nothing,” she replied, shrugging. “It’s all been you."

Charlotte looked down at her hands, beaming. If she didn’t survive the Games, Susan was definitely among a very limited number of people she would miss. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, as Susan plaited her hair into her trademark braid, until the announcer called out to tell the tributes to step into the lifts. She exhaled sharply, and stepped into the clear contraption. The doors didn’t shut immediately, and she saw this as a sign to ask one last thing.

“When Sidney said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him too?"

“I did. The way you were blushing, and stared up at the screen. I really did believe that you could have feelings for that boy."

She blushed once more at the memory. At least she now knew for certain. She could pretend to have feelings for Sidney, if it meant she could stay alive, and people would believe it.

Suddenly the door swung shut, and she waved anxiously out to Susan. She waved back, and that was that.

After what felt like hours of travelling further down, she finally reached the catacombs under the Training Centre, and she wa taken aback by how big it was. There were eight hovercrafts waiting for the tributes, Capitol employees stationed at each one to direct them in. She was pulled over to hovercraft number five, and pushed inside. She found a seat, and immediately felt as though she had been slapped sharply round the face. Next to her was Edward. He was grinning rather arrogantly, and even had the audacity to shoot her a wink. Across from her was the boy from 11. He was deliberately staring at her, trying to unnerve her. Charlotte just ignored him as best she could, and turned her attention to a woman in a white coat who, rather harshly, asked her to hold out her arm. She roughly pushed up her sleeve, and pulled out a large needle. Feeling both Edward and the other boy’s scrutinising glares, she refused to let the fear show on her face. However, she couldn’t refrain from wincing as some small metal object was injected under her skin. She could see it flashing white.

“I know right. Hurts like a bitch,” Edward said, showing her his arm. His light was flashing white too. She could see the boy from 11’s flashing green, however. There couldn’t be twenty-four colours for each of them, so they must have meant something. Same District, perhaps? But that didn’t explain why she shared the same colour as Edward. Puzzled, she tried to think about something else.

“Where is this hovercraft taking us?” she asked no one in particular. This time it was the boy from 11 who answered.

“To the arena, of course,” he scoffed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. And Charlotte supposed it kind of was.

Soon, the hovercraft was lifted into the air, and in a matter of minutes they had landed in another catacomb. They were directed into another room, where now she had to wait alone. She sat there, and though the wait was considerably shorter, it felt like a century without company.

Suddenly, the announcer called out to them to climb into their lifts again. She complied, and struggled to calm her shaky breathing. The door swung shut, and soon she was being lifted up. The light blinded her, and she had to look away. When her eyes adjusted, she found herself stood on a podium, in a clearing. Surrounding her were trees, and behind the trees were hills, covered with even more trees. A forest. She had been right.

She felt a weight lifted off of her chest. She could survive here. She could hunt. She knew how to find water, and how to build a shelter, and how to keep warm. She would be okay. As long as she found herself a bow and arrow, she could pick off anybody who got too close. She could actually win. A ghost of smile flashed across her lips when she realised she had a real shot.

And that was when she saw them all. All the little ones stood on their podiums. Scared, intimidated, frightened. Looks of sheer terror, and expressions of hopelessness adorned their tiny faces, and she felt her heart sink. She couldn’t win. Not if she had to watch them all die.

A glinting caught her eye, and she turned her head to see a bow and arrow in clear view, as though it was put there especially for her. She suspected it probably had been. The Gamemakers seemed to be taunting her. Just to her left were all the little ones clustered together on purpose. Then right in front of her awaited a bow and arrow. It was a choice she had to make, which one she would run to first, and it was a choice she had to make quickly. There was a countdown on top of the Cornucopia, which is the giant, golden horn structure shaped like a cone with a curved tail, the mouth of which is at least seven metres high, spilling over with things that could mean life or death in the arena. The clock read ten seconds.

_Ten seconds to make a decision._

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

She couldn't see Sidney. Should she have considered teaming up with him?

Six.

Five.

Four.

No, it would only cause more conflicting feelings. Besides, he could look after himself. She _had_ to choose the little ones.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

“Ladies and gentleman, let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin!” cried out Crowe. She could picture his toothy, sparkling grin in her mind as his voice echoed around the arena.

She chose the little ones.

Grabbing a backpack a couple of metres away from her, she wasted a couple of seconds that would have saved the girl from District 9’s life. She watched as a small dagger was buried into the girl's back, knocking her to the floor, a cannon signalling her immediate death. The one who threw it was Eliza, the girl from District 2. Biting back tears, Charlotte put Eliza’s name at the top of her list of lives she wouldn’t be conflicted about taking.

However, that would have to wait. She gathered up the four other little ones, taking two by the hand, Rose and the girl from 6 ahead of her, and sped off towards the safety of the tree line. Rose could meet her pace easily, the others not so much. They had to be practically dragged along. “Don’t look behind you!” she called to the kids, hearing the battle rage on, cannons firing left and right. One of Eliza’s daggers soared past them and buried itself into a tree a few inches away. She had hastily yanked out the knife that had thrown at her out of the tree, and had tucked it into her pocket for later use. Soon, they were concealed by the shrubbery, but that didn’t mean she slowed down.

She kept going for another few miles, until she could feel the little ones struggling. They were panting, and tripping over stick after stick. Running for any longer wouldn’t do them much good. She needed to find somewhere safe to hide them all. They stopped for a brief moment, long enough to catch their breaths. It was then that Charlotte realised that the dagger Eliza had thrown at them had clipped her shoulder, slicing a good few inches into her flesh. She had been too filled with adrenaline to notice that she had been wounded, and now that she was regaining her breath, the pain was sharp and biting.

She found a decent sized tree, with long enough branches that could conceal them all. She pulled the children to the side, and asked if any of them could climb trees. They all nodded, and she smiled at them.

Hurriedly, unsure whether she was imagining the footsteps behind them or not, she pointed to the tree, and instructed them all to clamber up it. They all had no problem, and this managed to lift her spirits up slightly. Rose was particularly skilled at making her way up the thick oak, soaring up to the highest branch. Charlotte made sure that they all were nice and high up, secure, before she started to ascend. Now she was certain she could hear people tearing through the woods, gaining on them. She joined the boy from District 8, who was trembling so much she had to hold him close to her, to muffle the chattering of his teeth.

She didn’t dare to look down and give away their cover. She didn’t need to look down to know who was down there; Edward’s voice was harsh, barking out orders to the other Careers. She distinctly heard her name, and she knew that he hadn’t taken her rejection of his offer quite so well. Technically, she hadn’t refused anyone, but he told her that it was either him or the little ones. He must have seen her take off with them all, making her decision rather clear.

When she was certain that the Careers had moved along, she started to consider their next move whilst rifling through the backpack. Inside she found an assortment of items, some more usual than the others. One thin, yet rather large sleeping bag that reflected body heat. A pack of crackers. A pack of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine. A box of wooden matches. A small coil of wire. A pair of sunglasses. And a two-litre plastic bottle that was bone dry. Small packs of food, not nearly enough to share among four people, and absolutely no water. They couldn’t stay up in the tree, thirsty and starving, but she couldn’t risk bringing them all down only to wander around the woods to find yet another tree to hide in. She had to go alone, and bring back something to eat, maybe even news of a better shelter.

Leaning forward, she made sure she had all of the little one’s attentions. “Is everybody listening?” she whispered, receiving a round of eager nods. “You’re all exhausted, and I don’t want to take you all away from such a great hiding place, but we’re going to need food and water. I know how to find some, and I’ll only be an hour, two at tops, but that will mean having to leave you all here. Will you be alright by yourselves for a couple of hours?"

She could see that her suggestion was met with some reluctance, and she knew what they all must have been thinking. “I promise I’ll come back, okay? I’m not going to leave you here.” They still looked a little skeptical. She held up a finger, as an idea struck her. She peeled off the backpack, and handed it to the girl from District 6. She was the oldest. “In there is everything I would need if I have any chance of surviving alone. I want you to keep it safe for me, until I get back."

This confirmed to them that she was telling the truth, as all their expression relaxed a little, and some even breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re all to behave whilst I’m gone, okay? If you’re going to talk, whisper, and no climbing down. I want you all to stay here, in this exact spot, alright?” As she began her descent, she realised that she was, in effect, leaving a one thirteen year old and three twelve year olds without anything to defend themselves with. But then to give up her dagger would be to render herself defenceless too. Looking at all their tiny faces however, she succumbed to their hopelessness, and handed Rose the weapon. “Only use this in desperate measures, okay? No throwing it down, only if someone is climbing up. I can trust you with this, can’t I?"

She grinned at her, nodding earnestly. Charlotte brushed her cheek, and smiled at the rest of them. “I know exactly how many crackers are in that bag, okay. I’ve got my eye on you,” she teased, jokingly narrowing her eyes at the boy from District 8. He laughed, and she winked at him. “See you in time for dinner, okay?"

And with that she started to scale back down the tree, landing on the soft pile of leaves below. To put her mind at ease, she stepped back and pretended as though she was walking by, and casually glanced up at the oak tree. She couldn’t see any of the little ones. Smiling to herself, she headed off in the opposite direction, in search of water. She tapped her jacket pocket to make sure that she had brought the water bottle. Fortunately, she had. She had also brought the coil with her too, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

Using all the knowledge she had ever acquired from her seven years of hunting and foraging, she remembered that water travelled downstream, and that by heading down a slope, she would have much better luck finding a water source. A rabbit rustled around in a bush beside her, and hopped out idly, crossing her path. Out of habit, she reached behind her to draw an arrow, but instead her hand only found air. She sighed, and continued to walk on. It was shame she didn’t have that bow with her; that rabbit seemed like easy pickings. Then, she saw it as a good sign. If there was one rabbit, there must have been more, spread out across the woods. Hopefully the rest of them wouldn’t have much experience being hunted, to make the job much simpler for her.

She didn’t like being so low, surrounded by a valley. It made her feel trapped, vulnerable to all kinds of attacks. If she was high up, she could at least see her enemy. But then she would be even further from any kind of water source, and further from the little ones. Just at the mere thought of them, all huddled together in that tree, her pace quickened. She didn’t want to be a second later than she needed to be, and let them think she had given up on them.

It was when she heard a twig snap after about forty minutes of walking that she felt her heart leap into her mouth. She froze, and dropped to the floor, crouching behind a small cluster of shrubbery. Peeking between the leaves, she spotted the slender frame of the tribute from District 3. He was unarmed, though ladened down heavily with a backpack brimming with treats. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and curse the Gamemakers. Of course she got the crappy backpack with the crappy supplies, whilst the boy from 3 got what appeared to be fresh fruit and a slingshot. In his rush - she couldn’t quite see who or what he was running from - two pairs of sock fell from his back. She wasn't quite sure what he would have needed two pairs for, but she wasted no time in scooping them up when the coast was clear. She pocketed them alongside the water bottle, feeling rather satisfied with her find.

Suddenly, she felt the ground give way under her feet, and it was only when she started to fall did she realise she was stood on the edge of a rather steep slope, which happened to be incredibly unsteady. She had to bite her lip to stop a scream from escaping her lips. She was falling for a good few seconds, until she finally splashed into a little stream. Her shirt had been slashed slightly, by her abdomen, and her trousers took the same kind of battering. She was feeling sore all over. However, landing into cool and refreshing water pushed all thoughts of pain aside, and she was just happy to have found something to drink. Parched and dry, her mouth like sandpaper, she was crying out for nourishment. She started to lap up the water using her hands, splashing the cold liquid onto her face. Then, she took out her bottle and filled it to the brim. Luckily, the bottle was quite big, and would hold enough fluid for a good couple of sips for everyone.

Strolling alongside the stream, she tried to find an easier way up. Instead, what she did spot was a rabbit, nonchalantly chewing on a piece of grass. Promptly, she leapt forward without a seconds hesitation, and caught the rabbit in her hands. Grimacing, she snapped it’s neck with her bare hands, apologising under her breath. She never liked this part about hunting, and would usually ask Stringer to do it. The rabbit stopped twitching, so she wrapped a piece of the copper wire around it’s leg, and slung it around her shoulder.

On her way back to the tree, she caught one more rabbit, with two unsuccessful attempts - word must be getting around, because she saw less and less wildlife on the way back then she did on the way to the stream - and found a cluster of wild juniper berries beside the stream. She knew they were juniper berries, despite them being extremely rare in District 12, because of their distinct similarities with blueberries. They were bigger than their counterpart, and considerably more purple, and sweeter too. Proud of her horde, she retraced her steps back to the oak tree, with a big grin on her face.

After such a successful conquest, she didn’t think that she was at all prepared for what she saw when she returned to the tree.


End file.
